=Author's Note=
It's been way too long, so I'd like to start by apologizing for taking all this time to publish something new.  After doing a quick comparison, I'm pleased (I think) to say that this particular fic steals the title of longest personal story away The Master's Ball.   Just remember, if it seems long, that's just because it's so chock full o' goodness.  Enjoy!

=Legal Disclaimer=
If I did own Pokémon, I certainly wouldn't have to publish my works online, now would I?  Pokémon and its subsidiaries are all trademarks of Nintendo Inc. and 4 Kids Entertainment, with the exception of a host of Hasbro licensed toys.  God bless you and your crazy little critters, gentlemen and ladies!

BadgeQuest: The Americal Chronicles #5
The HM Saga 04

"This has gone on long enough."

Giovanni sat opposite a tall, nondescript man with wispy brown hair, and deep chestnut eyes that pierced whatever his steely gaze rested upon.  Deep beneath Viridian City in the lair of the headmaster of Team Rocket, a worldwide organization bent on the economic conquest and subjugation of the entire planet, his eyes were cast downward, lowered from their usual sweeping search pattern in a mixture of rage and humiliation.   For someone of his reputation and skill, this was truly a sign that he was not having the best of days.

"Three assassins were sent in."

It was not a question, but a statement.  It was also correct; the man sitting across from Giovanni had sent in three of his agents...three of the top assassins on the planet.  One was a swordsman, trained since birth in the shadowy art of the ninja.   A tree had felled him (when, ironically, it was usually the other way around), toppled by his own target.  Another was an alluring young woman, who had underwent dangerous experimental surgery (at great cost) to replace her weak human muscular system with bionic pseudo-muscular enhancements that gave her the strength of a Machamp.   She, too, had been beaten by the target, her own machine-like muscles shorting out after a single attack.  The third was like him...nondescript, unassuming, and yet he was the world's finest marksman...

Omega wasn't sure of the third.

Regardless of the third assassin's inexplicable failure, he was shaken to the very core.  He would have expected any one of the three to be able to handle a boy not yet old enough to shave more than twice a week.  The notion that their own target had not only defeated them, but humiliated themselves and himself, their leader, was completely unacceptable.

"Three assassins failed."

Omega, the creator and commander of the self-named Omega Red, looked up to meet the gaze of his employer.  "Yes...sir."  He dared not try to make excuses.  There were none, after all; how on Earth would anyone believe that a sixteen-year-old boy had defeated a team of world-class mercenaries?   "They did, sir."

"Why?"

He kept his voice calm and even, trying desperately to maintain control.  It was difficult with Giovanni drumming his fingers pointedly on the mahogany desk.  Buffed to a high polish, the surface reflected Team Rocket's leader's scowl back at Omega, giving the illusion of two of him.   It was appropriate, given that he was finding himself in double the amount of trouble from just a few weeks before.  "It is difficult to say, sir.  I have not seen the target up close."

Giovanni leaned forward, resting his chin upon his hands in almost a casual manner.  Omega knew perfectly well, though, that there was nothing casual about that man.  He could see the fire burning in Giovanni's eyes.  It was that fire that had built an empire, that fire that had seen the death of so many different men...

The fire that would surely kill him if he failed again.

"Take a guess...just for fun."  Giovanni's gaze didn't flicker one iota, and his voice was a frosted, constant low.  Though his words were casual, his manner was anything but.

Clearing his throat, Omega began, "Based on initial analysis of the boy's past and present activities, both in and out of battle situations, and an analysis of his companion's capabilities, compared with the results of our previous missions, I would say that the level of his Pokémon, in addition to his strategic skill, is much higher than we calculated.   This, in addition to his uncanny knack for escaping hopeless situations, might explain why we have been unable to eliminate him.

"Hmmm..." Giovanni nodded slowly, processing what Omega had just said.  He stood soundlessly, taking slow, measured steps around his polished oak desk and around his office, decorated with some of the finest stolen artwork the world had ever known.   "Omega, exactly how much of what you just said was pure Tauros droppings?"

"All of it, sir."

"Then what is the real answer?"

"Blind luck."

At last, Giovanni nodded, a smile spreading slowly on his stony, snakelike features.  "That was the answer I wanted to hear, Omega."  The smile vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced with one of his patented glares.  "Omega, I want the boy dead.   No excuses, no failures, no near misses...just dead.  I want to see the six o'clock news singing praises of the boy's achievements in life as the funeral dirge plays on."  His fist slammed against his desk with each new sentence, both his voice and blows growing with frightening intensity.   "I want him DEAD!  Not hurt, not scared, DEAD!  I want his head sitting on a solid gold platter, ON MY DESK, by tomorrow morning..." he leaned across the desk, his face hovering inches from the assassin's.  "...with an expression of horror frozen on his face.   Do you understand me?"

Omega nodded slowly.  He could feel the heated breath from his employer's flared nostrils rolling across his cheeks, and tried not to blink.  Blinking would be taken as weakness, and this was a man who could not tolerate weakness from his subordinates.   "I've already deployed Psi, sir.  He will rendezvous with your field agents in a matter of hours."  Omega's black leather-bound hands curled tightly into fists as his eyes narrowed.  "I guarantee, sir; Ashlan Ketchum will be singing a different tune soon enough."
* * *

"I get no kick from cham-paiiiiiign!"

Ash Ketchum, raven-haired, handsome sixteen-year-old Pokémon training dynamo, former champion of the world's largest and most prestigious Pokémon battle league, and Goddess-anointed guardian of the planet, was beginning to feel just a little put upon.   He groaned in frustration and planted his face squarely in his palms, trying to rub the fatigue out of his eyes while avoiding the last remaining bandages wrapped around his forehead and pasted to his cheek.  The aches and pains that had accompanied him from his run in with Team Rocket were all but gone, and the regen treatments insured that he wouldn't have any scars.   Still, his body hadn't forgotten the beating that he had given it, and it was definitely payback time.

"Mere alcohol, it doesn't move me at all!"

The Greyhoundour bus that he was currently trapped on was still an hour away from Bluster, their next stopover in Ash's American tour, and he could feel his stomach lurch with every bounce.  The three cheeseburgers he had eaten six hours ago were threatening to come back up they way they came down, which didn't improve his mood at all.   He should have known better than to eat so many cheeseburgers for breakfast, but neither the warnings of his friends, nor his own woefully-underdeveloped common sense had been enough to dissuade him from a "six for five bucks" deal at Burgerland.  

All in all, it wasn't the best time to attempt delicate electrical repairs, especially since he didn't have a clue how to start.  Worse still, his Pokédex was making things ten times as hard.  Dexter's love of classic show tunes and old lounge songs had become not only more apparent, but also magnified, after he had been damaged in the fight with Lawrence.  

"So tell me why should it be truuuuue?"

If they were still on the island, Ash would simply have taken the wayward device to Professor Oak, and he would have gotten the 'Dex back, better than new, within half an hour, probably with a lollipop to boot.  As it was, he was lost; he had no idea how to fix a complex palmtop computer.   He had enough trouble operating the Pokédex, and it practically ran itself after the AI program designed by Westwood the Fifth had slipped in with the last batch of upgrades.

"Pika?" Pikachu sat atop his shoulder, peering down as its trainer tried to fix the broken exocomputer with minimal success.  "Pika.  Pi, pikachu.  Pi?" it cooed mournfully, gripping Ash's arm with its claws as it leaned over.

"No," Ash shot back more harshly than he actually meant to, "I haven't fixed him yet, Pikachu.  I don't know how."  

"That I get a 'kick', kick out of-"

Disgusted, he flipped the Pokédex off and stashed him back in his black Silph Co. jacket.  "I don't get it...I've been trying for the past two weeks to fix him, and nothing seems to work."

"Maybe you shouldn't have tried dunking him underwater..." a bulked-up young man sitting next to him quipped, giving Ash a grin.  He possessed arms like small, well-defined tree trunks, with medium brown skin that women went wild over.  It was almost too bad that his personality, when in proximity to a remotely attractive woman, was unbelievably abrasive.   It was almost as if he had a kind of sixth sense for beautiful women that sent his brain into shutdown...which wasn't a pretty sight.

Ash turned to give Brock Stone, his best friend and surrogate big brother, a withering glare.  "Look, I thought it would clean him out, okay?  How was I to know that his transistors would blow?"  He tugged his hat down tighter on his head and folded his arms dejectedly.   "I didn't even know what transistors were until I asked Gear where the black smoke was coming from."

"Haven't been doing your homework again, have you, Ash?" His redheaded companion leaned over from the pair of seats behind him and Brock, grinning.  "Let's review Remedial Science 101, shall we?  What happens when we mix electrical components and water?"

"Shut up, Misty."

She grinned.  "It's also called the 'toaster in the bathtub' principle."  As much as she teased, though, Misty felt guilty and partially responsible for Dexter's condition after their rumble with Lawrence and the Team Rocket assassins.  After all, if she hadn't been caught by Lawrence's mechanical monster, Archimedes, then Ash would still have his electronic advisor in working order.

All guilt for her young companion evaporated, however, when the girl sitting next to Misty leaned forward as well, an expression of sympathy on her delicate features.  She patted Ash on the cheek, giving it a quick peck of her lips.  "It's okay.   I'm sure we'll be able to fix him sooner or later."  This brought a small smile to Ash's face as he reached around and took the hand of Dixie Mason, his newest girlfriend, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Ignoring the pang of jealousy that emerged, Misty pulled out her bag from beneath her seat and began to rummage through it.  "You know, Ash, if you really want to fix Dexter, maybe you should take a look at his operating manual."

"Dexter has an operating manual?"

She nodded, reaching down into the very bottom-most depths of the bag.  "Sure.  I grabbed it from your house before we left.  Don't you remember?"  She pulled it out with a small cry of triumph, tossing it over the seat.  It was a small book, comparable to a pocket dictionary, with just as many big words in very tiny print.   "You were using it to balance out your coffee table."

Ash nodded sheepishly, in truth not remembering it at all.  He opened the cover of the small book and strained his eyes to read.  "Congratulations on the purchase of your Pokémon Database/Experimental eXocomputer, model DEX IV (Patent Pending).   The Pokédex blah blah blah blah blah, basic scanning functions, blah blah blah blah blah, identification of new species, yada yada yada..."

As Ash poured over the comprehensive manual, Brock craned his neck to see out the bus's windshield, trying to catch a glimpse of the towering skyscrapers of the Windy City.  "Any idea of what kind of gym is in Bluster?" he asked Dixie, turning back to her with squinted eyes.

She shook her head.  "I always did most of my training near the East Coast, so I could stay near my grandfather's lab..." her voice cracked ever so slightly at the memory, but she pushed it away.  "The Midwest is just as much of a mystery to me as it is to you.   All I know is, the Itemfinder was pointing this way for the next Hidden Machine.  As soon as we reach a hotel, I want to take another-"

She was cut off when a terrific explosion of air blasted at her side.  The gust was strong enough to knock the hat from Ash's head, as well as Pikachu from his jacketed shoulder.  Brock's sharpened hair, usually solid and steady as any mountain, was blown straight into his squinted eyes.

Misty sniffed, rubbing her nose sheepishly.  "Excuse me," she sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.  "Didn't know I had it in me..."

"What, you mean a hurricane?" Ash bent down, retrieving both his Pikachu and his wayward hat from the filthy bus floor.  "Are you coming down with something again?"

"Again?  What do you mean?" she huffed, half out of indignation, and half because, truth be told, she was having a hard time breathing.  "I've never been sick a day in my life."

"Yes you have!" Ash shot back, spinning around to meet her glare with his own as Brock and Dixie tried to straighten their windblown hair.  "There was that one time, 'bout three years back-"

"I had an itchy nose, that's all!  Stop making such a big deal out of it."

"You had a fever of a hundred and two!"

"It was hot that day, and Brock insisted that I wear that stupid blanket!"

"Hey!" Brock tried to interject, but as with most of his friends' fights, he wasn't able to get a word in edgewise.  He exchanged helpless looks with Dixie as Ash and Misty continued their squabbling, leaving poor Pikachu to act as referee in their tussle.

"Just you wait!" Misty folded her arms defiantly, "By the time we check in to the hotel, you'll be saying, 'Misty, how do you keep yourself so darn healthy?'."
* * *

"WA-CHOO!"

Brock shook his head, standing over the bed-ridden redhead, keeping his distance from her as she coughed, hacked, croaked, wheezed, sniffled, snorted, dripped, squeaked, creaked, groaned, and moaned.  He was trying to keep a straight face and doing a very poor job of it.   Since reaching the hotel only two hours ago, Misty had only gotten worse.  It had started as just some mild sneezing, but had then grown into a full-blown head cold.  Brock wasn't sure if their supply of complimentary tissues would hold out much longer.   "Misty, how did you get so darn sick?"

"Cram ib where duh sun don'b shine, Spike-head." Misty forced the words out of her frog-ridden throat, reaching for a tissue generously offered by Brock's hand.  She let loose with a foghorn blast into the thin, soft paper, trying desperately to clear her sinuses.   "Oh God, I dink my head is goi'b do cave in..."

"Well, I'll just leave you then...after all, people who are sick should-"

"I'm NOB sick!" she wailed, falling back onto her pillow with a sob.  "I jusb have a libble dusb in my node from duh bus ribe."

"You know, you talk funny when you're sick."

"I'm nob sick."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm nob."

Brock reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small brown paper bag.  He set it down on Misty's nightstand, giving the sack a loving pat, and Misty a brilliant smile.  "Okay, listen; I'm going to leave this here."

"Whab is ib?"
"I picked up some anti-histamines, some cough syrup, a couple of painkillers for the headache, and an herbal sedative that'll have you sleeping like a baby all night."  He gave her a friendly wink, poking her on the tip of her ruby-red nose, rubbed raw by the poor quality tissues of the hotel.   "I don't want you waking Dixie up every ten minutes because you're sick-"

"I'M NOB SICK!"

He heaved one last sigh as he left, closing the door gently behind him.  Misty breathed as softly as she could, straining her ears for any lingering signs of Brock.  As soon as she was sure he had actually left, she made a mad grab for the bag, ripping it open and prying at the cover to the anti-histamines as if they were pills of eternal life.

To Misty's horror, the door creaked open, allowing Brock's square head to pop in.  Frantically, Misty shoved the medicine, bag and all, underneath the covers.  "Misty..." Brock started.

"WHAB?" she shrieked.  Then, forcing her heart rate back down, she repeated in a much more calm voice, "Whab?"

"Don't take them all at once, okay?" he winked at her, then ducked his head back through the door to avoid the hard plastic of the bottle of sedatives that Misty hurled at him.  The bottle banged loudly on the cracked paint of the wooden motel door and fell to the floor, unbroken.

"Lousy, stupid know-ib-all..." Misty grumped, trying once again to pry open the medicines.
* * *

Ash winced, trying to screw up his resolve.  This wasn't going to be easy, but he had to do it.  "Okay, Ash...It's all right.  You can handle this."

"Pika?" Pikachu tugged on his pant leg, looking up at him with large, dark, limpid eyes.  "Pika, pi pikachu..."  It scampered up his leg, across his back and onto his shoulder, looking at its trainer's twisted face.  "Pika."

"No, it's okay, Pikachu." Ash assured him, "I can handle this."  He took several more deep breaths, then, slowly, excruciatingly, reached into the wallet sitting in his hands, and withdrew the money he owed the hotel for the two rooms.  The clerk gave him a raised eyebrow, but accepted the cash without comment.   Gasping, Ash bent over and rested his palms on his knees, as if winded from running a race.

"God, that looked painful."  Dixie quipped from behind, walking up to join him at the counter.   She let a copy of Pokémon Trainer's Monthly drop to her side, giving her beau a loving pat on the back.  "You okay, sweetie?"

"I swear, this budget gets harder and harder to work with every month."  He tugged at the black Silph Co. jacket that rested on his shoulders.  He had never liked the black Silph jacket as much as his trusted blue League jacket, which he had left behind with his mother in Pallet Town.   It never fit properly, and was too warm at times, or not warm enough at others.  It was ugly, and made him look like a punk.  He wasn't a punk!  "Sometimes I wish I had never taken that campaigning job with Silph..."

"Believe me, Mr. Ketchum, there are some who feel the same way."

The voice came from directly at his back, and caused all three of them to jump.  Ash, Dixie, and Pikachu whirled around, coming face to face with a total stranger.  He was short, shorter than either of the teens, with a large, glossy, balding head, a pair of thin, flashing spectacles, narrow, appraising eyes, and a neat, spotless black business suit.   "Good day, Mr. Ketchum.  May I please have a moment of your time?" he inquired in a strong, nasal voice, removing the glasses and hooking them onto his sport coat as he spoke.

"That depends." Ash stated flatly, grabbing hold of his shouldered Pikachu to keep the Pokémon from flying at the interloper.  Already, his Pika-pal was sparking at the cheeks, a sign that this was not a man to trust, nor like.  "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The man allowed himself a tiny, tight-lipped smile, the kind that no humor existed behind.  "Indeed.  My name is Alistair McAlistair," he produced a business card seemingly from thin air, handing it to Ash as if expecting the boy to encase it in hospital-grade Lucite and place it on an engraved plaque, commemorating the moment.   "I am Silph Co.'s chief representative of marketing and sales."

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" Dixie scowled at the tiny suit, daring him to prove himself.  After the past few months, she had grown to become very distasteful of men in black suits.  "We need some proof."

The man nodded, and pointed to the magazine, still clutched in Dixie's fingers.  "I believe," he harrumphed with an air of superiority, "That you will find what you need on page sixty-eight, column two, the second picture from the left.

Curious, Dixie thumbed through the magazine, then elbowed Ash as she reached the appropriate page.  Both Ash and Pikachu leaned over to see, on page sixty-eight, column two, in the second picture from the left-hand side, the small bespectacled man in the exact same business suit, seen at a press conference.   He was smiling his same humorless smile, shaking hands with none other than Ash's worst nemesis (discounting all megalomaniacs and evil demon Pokémon).  Dixie read the caption aloud; "Alistair McAlistair, representative of the Silph Corporation, seen here with Indigo League champion Garret Oak, at a conference announcing the renewed sponsorship of the Indigo League by Silph Co."   She exchanged glances with Ash, shaking her head.  "I guess he's on the level."

"Quite." McAlistair cleared his throat noisily, indicating that Ash should follow him.  As Ash and Pikachu followed him across the lobby, suspicion seeped into Dixie's gaze.  This suspicion grew when McAlistair threw a glance at Pikachu, then at Ash.   Reluctantly, Ash nodded to Pikachu, who gave the suit one last snarl before padding over to Dixie.  Dixie glared to no avail, harrumphing and tossing her hair as the stranger she had just met left to peruse with her sweetie.  Pikachu acted in much the same manner, tossing its ears and fizzling at the cheeks, its glossy eyes spraying invisible bolts of death at McAlistair.

"Boy," Brock quipped as he walked up behind the two, who were tossing, snorting and glaring, "Somebody got you guys worked up.  I haven't seen this much anger in a room since William Shatner called all those Sev Trek nerds 'pathetic'.  What's up?"

"Over there," Dixie chucked her thumb in the direction of the departed pair, turning to greet their companion, chief cook, and bottle washer.  "Ash's talking to some grand poobah from the Silph Corporation, or something."

"Silph?"  Brock was intrigued.  He studied the man carefully, noticing a certain, passing familiarity about the stranger.  "Hmm..."

"What is Silph, anyway?"

"Huh?"  His concentration momentarily broken, Brock turned to answer Dixie's questioning gaze.  "Silph is a multi-billion dollar global corporation that holds almost a monopoly on many parts of the world as far as Pokémon equipment goes.  Right now they're neck and neck with another company from the island; Giovanni International Incorporated."   He glanced over at Ash, his brow furrowing.  "Ash signed on with them as a spokesperson...I think they were hoping it would give them the edge over GII to have such a well known personality, but..."

Dixie scooped an uncomplaining Pikachu into her arms, stroking the yellow, furry critter as it rumbled in satisfaction against her chest.  "I have a bad feeling about this..."
* * *

"You're cutting my funding!"  Ash struggled to keep the cry quiet, but he feared needlessly that his friends could still hear him over the din of the lobby.  It's not like anyone could blame him.  He couldn't believe it!  After all this time, without hearing a single thing from these people, they were going to swoop down and cut him off.   The nerve!

McAlistair raised his palms, his face spreading into an uncharacteristic grin.  "Peace, Mr. Ketchum, peace."

"Just Ash, please."

McAlistair continued on as if he had never heard him.  "Mr. Ketchum, we aren't about to do anything as drastic as cutting your funding."

"Whew, that's a re-"

"We are, however, considering the notion of cutting your funding."

"Crap."

"Indeed." He pulled out a small black book, unhooking his pair of rectangular spectacles from his jacket.  He placed the specs on his nose, and flipped the book open.  "Mr. Ketchum, this book contains the various commercials, public appearances, and word-of-mouth boons that you have thus far provided to our corporation."   He handed to book off to Ash, whisking his spectacles off and tapping them deftly on the smooth, black leather binding.  "I would like you to take a look at them, if you would be so kind."

Ash opened the book with a shrug, flipping through the pages.  "There's nothing here but blank paper."

"Precisely our point!" McAlistair snatched the book away, tucking it back into his jacket.  "Now, perhaps you could explain to me why it is our company should be providing you with the generous amount of backing you currently receive without any benefits to show for?"

"Generous?" Ash scoffed, regarding the man as a hobo might regard his mugger.  "You think that pitiful allowance is generous?"  He jabbed a finger at the ceiling, his eyes narrowing and voice clouding with anger.  "Right now I have a sick friend upstairs in a cheap motel room that we had to dip into our own meager funds to pay for.   We bought her some medicine using up most of the month's food money.  Where's all this generosity I keep hearing you talk about?"

"The amount is not in negotiation right now, Mr. Ketchum." McAlistair insisted, astonished and insulted by this boy's audacity to demand more money when he should be begging for what he got now.  "What currently hangs in the balance is the question of whether or not Mr. Silph continues to sign your paycheck."

Ash's finger shook furiously as he jabbed it at the corporate tool.  His mouth opened and closed, but words appropriate for a properly edited fanfiction failed the teenager.

"I take that to mean that you are willing to reconsider our business arrangement?"
* * *

"What's he saying, Meowth?"

A trio with greater oddity surrounding them would be hard to find than Team Rocket; Jessie and James sat across the lobby in a set of soft, buttery leather armchairs.  James was dressed in the robes of a Tibetan monk, complete with balding cap and small, golden glasses (frames only) perched on his nose.   Jessie, naturally, had taken a one-eighty on his approach, wearing a black maid's dress that was several sizes too small ("but it fit me when I was fifteen...what, you don't think it fits now?").  She had also tried to duplicate the accent, which was driving her partners up the wall.

"Come on..." Jessie growled, tugging on the leash they had wrapped around his neck to avoid suspicion.  Unfortunately for them, that was all that their disguises brought them.  "Vaht's he saying, hairball?"

"Will you two pipe down?" Meowth squawked, squinting at Ash's tiny face.  "Dis isn't easy."

James frowned, wrinkling the bald cap.  "I thought you said you could read lips..."

"I assumed I could."

"Vaht?"

Meowth turned, abandoning the hopeless, fruitless waste of time.  He may have been able to teach himself how to read, write, and speak, but lip-reading was going to take a lot more time and energy...and who had the time or energy for that?  They could just buy some kind of bug, or something.   "Hey, it sounded easy enough."

James leapt forward, wrapping his fingers around Meowth's slender throat and squeezing, hauling the cat into the air and shaking him.  "You lousy little flea trap, I'm going to kill you!"

"James!" Jessie snatched Meowth from James' grip, gently cradling the gasping Pokémon.  "Don't be foolish...your hands aren't nearly strong enough to do the job right."  With that, she began choking the cat herself, joined in a moment later by James.

"Tsk, tsk, children..." a strong, sultry voice intoned from behind the trio, stopping them in mid-assault (much to the relief of their Pokémon companion).  Turning, they saw an elderly gentleman, bespectacled and carrying a polished wooden cane.   He was leaning against the walking aid, chuckling softly at the sight.  Next to his feet was a large, battered antique steamer trunk, covered from base to handle with stickers from all over the world.  "Jessie and James...two of my most brilliant students.   You never did quite grasp the concept of subtlety, though, did you?"

Each of the Rockets went white as a sheet, letting the forgotten cat drop to the ground.  "M-m-m-m..." Was all that James could manage.  His jaw hit the floor and his eyes grew wide as saucers.

"M-m-m..." Jessie stammered.  After a few good swallows, she finally found suitable choices from her otherwise limited vocabulary.  "M-master P-p-p-psi!"

"At your service, Jessie dear." The old man stooped in an impromptu bow.  "Now, where is this young Ketchum lad I have been hearing so much about?"  His eyes wandered the room, finally coming to rest on a corner of the lobby.  "Ah, there he is.   Hmmm..." he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, examining the trainer from head to toe.  "I can't say that he looks like much...but we know very well that looks can be deceiving, do we not?"

"Yes, Master Psi!" James found his voice, standing tall in a posture that ill-suited his monk disguise.  "We are at your disposal, sir!"  His bald wig began to slip off, but he managed to catch it and slap it back onto his head with frantic hands.

"Sir, ready, willing, and able, sir!" Jessie added.

"What are you two talking about?" Meowth demanded, eyeballing the newcomer.  "He don't look like no Rocket master!  He's just some old geezer, dat's all!"

In less time than it takes to tell about it, the man's hand was wrapped around Meowth's throat.  Though hidden within his sleeves, a pair of glinting, curved blades was very clear to the cat Pokémon's sharp eyes, the points hanging mere centimeters from his soft, oh-so-cute flesh.   Meowth yelped pathetically, sweating as the old man smiled sweetly at him.

"A mastery of disguise is but one of my bag of tricks.  Understood, my talking friend?"  Meowth nodded lamely, prompting Psi to release him.  "Now, come, my students.  We have a job to do, and any good job requires a lot of planning, some skill, and perhaps a little luck to expedite the process."   With that, the old man led them through the maze of people towards the exit, off to prepare perilous perpetration for their pubescent nemesis with James left to lug along his heavy trunk.
Little known to them, however, was that their exit was observed by a pair of unremarkable men with remarkable abilities, blending in to the crowd with their dark black suits.  The men barely acknowledged the Rockets, but did not discount them entirely.   Considering how much trouble they had caused the "operation" in the last few months, it was worth keeping them as a factor in their plans.
And, oh, what plans they had...
* * *

"So..." Ash said through gritted teeth, trying to squash every impulse his boiling rage broadcasted to his clenched fists, "How would you like me to begin 'living up to my end of the deal,' as you put it?"

McAlistair's eyes lit up at the thought of Ash's compliance, which annoyed the trainer to no end.  The suit dug through his briefcase, tossing aside charts, graphs, and all sorts of things Ash could only assume were documents that only corporate weasels would give a Ratticate's patootie about.   Finally, he pulled out a small pamphlet and practically forced it into Ash's hands.  "Here!" he said excitedly, "This is the local gym, where trainers go to earn their Galebadge."  Before Ash could even open the folded paper, the corporate exec snatched it from him and replaced it in his case.   "I'll set up a press event.  You can beat the gym leader with your usual level of unorthodox training methods and battle tactics, then proclaim to the whole world that Silph brand products are what got you where you are today."

"But that's..."

"Truth in advertising is such an antiquated notion, Mr. Ketchum." McAlistair snapped his briefcase shut, latching it with a flick of his prim, manicured finger.  "I suggest you update your mindset, and prepare to smile for the cameras at three o'clock sharp.   Good day."  With that, he spun on his heel and sauntered off stiffly, his polished shoes clicking on the dusty floor.

Grumbling, Ash strode back to the counter, giving Brock and Dixie a nod in greeting as he took his Pokémon back from the southerner's arms.  At her questioning look, he shook his head, placing Pikachu up on his shoulder.  The electric mouse gripped the bill of his reversed hat as its trainer led the way back up to the stairs.

"Ash," Dixie drawled, "What in tarnation was that all about?"

He growled over his shoulder at the waning hindquarters of the suited whelp of a man.  "A lot of trouble, Dix..."  Brock took in a breath to offer his opinion, but Ash cut him short with a sharp, twisted look.  "God, I don't need this right now..."

An idea suddenly entered Dixie's head, one that had been bottled up for days upon days within thoughts of their busy schedule.  Now, however, might be the right time to spring it on Ash.  She leaned over and began whispering into his ear, smiling brightly.   And, slowly but surely, a smile not unlike hers began to blossom on his face as well.
* * *

A soft groaning erupted from the mountain of miserable bedding that had once called itself Mysterious Waterflower as a series of loud knocks pounded all the way from its hotel door and into the base of its buried skull.  With a Herculean effort, the mound produced a baggy-eyed, droopy-haired head that managed to moan a pathetic greeting to the door's hidden guest.

Ash peeked in carefully, unsure whether or not Misty was fit for visitors.  "Hey, bright-eyes." He grinned, stepping into the room.  His eyes swept over their conglomerated bags, brightening when they spotted his own.  "How are you feeling?" he asked as he began to dig through the bag.

"I feel fibe." She wheezed, coughing into the blankets.  He drew in a breath to ask a follow-up question, but she cut him short.  "Ab yes, I did take dat stupid medicibe dat Brock gabe me, so shub up."

"Far be it for me to question the great and glorious Ms. Waterflower on the subject of her own health."  He received a projectile pillow to the back of the head for the crack, but he could see the smile on her face without even looking at her.  After their years together, Ash knew that nothing interested Misty more than a verbal battle of wits.   "Well, hang tight and let the medicine work its magic, huh?  I should be back in a few hours if things go well."

"Where are you goi'b?" she sniffed, popping another of her various pills into her mouth.  "Ab where's Pikachu?"

"He's waiting for me downstairs with Dix and Brock," he answered, still digging through his pack.  "We're going to head out to the local gym.  Some guy from Silph came by and..." he stopped short.  The last thing Misty needed was to worry about their funding problems right now.   He had never seen her this sick, and it was beginning to worry him (though his stubborn pride would never let him admit to it, just as Misty's stubborn pride would never let her admit just how sick she felt).  "Well, don't worry about tha-What do you think you're doing?"

Misty was already up and out of bed, pathetically trying to stagger her way over to Ash.  "I'b goi'b with you, whab does ib look like?" her nasal voice insisted.  She reached into her pack and began putting on layer after layer, trying to keep warm against the invisible chill that had attacked her the moment she set foot outside of the warm, safe bed.   "Jusb gibe me fibe minubes."

"I'll give you a hundred and twenty of them." He tore the sweatshirts and long sleeves out of her hands and began to forcibly undress her.  She tried to fight him, but her weak, feeble blows didn't even faze him.  "Misty!  Will you-"

"Leb me go, you-"

"Look, I'm doing this for your-ow!-your own good, and-"

"Leb me go or I'll screab rabe, you liddle-"

Despite herself, though, Misty's own legs gave out from under her, and she felt herself falling.  Ash leapt forward instinctively, catching her with outstretched arms before she could fall onto the filthy thin-carpet floor in a heap.  Though she hated him for it, she was truly grateful for his help.   Standing there, with her head on his-

Wait a minute...

"Ash..." she whispered softly, bringing herself up to her full height with his help.  She was in a state of shock as she stared at his chin...while looking straight ahead.  "Ash...when dib you geb to be taller thab me?"

The revelation floored Ash just as much as it had Misty.  He looked down...for the very first time, he looked down at Misty's eyes.  Sure enough, the top of her head was level with the bridge of his nose.  He could see over the top of her wiry, wild red hair as he held her close against his chest.   "I...I don't know..."  He hadn't noticed the development with all the excitement that had happened before...it really just wasn't one of those things a person kept a close watch on.  For both of them, though, it was strange and alien.  One of the things Ash held onto in the ever-changing world was that Misty was someone to look up to-not just figuratively, though heaven knows he had always strived to be as cunning and determined as she was-but physically, as well.   It was nothing world shattering...but it was disconcerting.

"I think I neeb to lie dowb..." she groaned.  Swiftly, he brought her to the bedside, laying her down gently onto the sheets.  "Thank you, Ash..." her hoarse voice was not but a whisper now as her strength left her.  Even now, she could feel the room fading away from her, try though she might to cling to her consciousness.

"No problem."  He returned to his bag, and finally extracted the items he was looking for; his Pokédex, and its manual.  "Here." He tossed the items onto the foot of the bed.  "If you insist on helping...and knowing you, you do...then after your nap, you can take a look at these."

Misty was well beyond hearing Ash at that point.  The second her head had made contact with the pillows, she had begun to fall into a state of deep slumber.  "Oh-kay," she murmured with a dreamy smile splayed across her rose petal lips.

He sat down at her bedside, smiling at her.  It was times like these, when she wasn't yelling, or criticizing, or fighting with him, that he truly felt lucky to have her in his life.  After all that they had been through together, he doubted he could even imagine things without her.   It was a good feeling.  "When I get back," he promised, "The first thing I'll do is come up here and see how you're doing, and show you my new badge.  Okay?"

"Really?" a smile of her own dawned on her sleepy features.

"Cross my heart," he assured her with a pat on her head.  "We can even watch that horrible Fox show they're doing about me before I have to go out."

"Where are you goi'b tonighb?"  
Misty was running on autopilot, and it was doubtful that she was even registering any of what Ash was saying.  Still, Ash had forgotten to mention it, even though he and Dixie had discussed it only a few minutes ago.  "Oh, I forgot to tell you, didn't I?   Dixie and I have a date tonight."
"Thab's nice."  She rolled over as he tiptoed out of the room.  "Goodnighb, Ash..." she murmured, then added unconsciously, "I lub you."
The words made him stop in his tracks.  Love him?  Misty hadn't said that since...well, it was probably just because she was tired.  Did she really-?  No, it wasn't possible.  She didn't know what she was saying.  And even if she did, she didn't mean it like...well, like that.   Did she?
He paused for only a second; whether she was just sick or not, he doubted that the words meant what he...thought...they might mean.  Besides, he didn't have time to deal with...'that'.  "I lub you too, Misty." He closed the door as quietly as he could, letting Misty drift off into a world of her own, where everything was just right.
* * *

Master Psi, this time dressed in a casual pair of slacks and a black T-shirt, and lugging his familiar steamer trunk.  He, along with the Team Rocket trio (now attired in their familiar uniforms), stood atop one of Bluster's many high-rises, looking over the cement lip of the building at the people several stories below.   Psi loved the angle; he thought it aptly appropriate that the common folk remain below him, appearing similar in stature to ants.  That was all they were, really; common, laboring insects.  They were completely unenlightened, completely oblivious to the higher workings of their world around them.

Perhaps, one glorious day, he could at last rejoin them in ignorance, leaving behind his life of adventure for something simpler...something more peaceful.  Yes, his retirement years looked better to his aching bones each and every year...

"Master?  Master Psi?"

Jessie's musical voice brought him back to the present with a jolt.  Slowly, he turned to survey her and James' handiwork with a critical eye.  From the look of things, they had assembled the rooftop rig flawlessly; it seemed ready, at a moment's notice, to fling a net from the skyline and entrap a helpless pedestrian of their choosing.   Meowth was making the final preparations, attaching the net to the compound steel cable.

"Well done, my students, well done indeed." He nodded in approval, pushing his spectacles up further on his nose.  "Well done indeed."  He had to be more careful from now on.  In his old age, he was becoming quite introspective.  Better to leave the spacing-out for after the mission, once they had already killed their target.   "Now, all that's left to do is to wait."  He set his trunk down next to him, planting himself on the edge with a groan of relief; his feet had already begun to ache.

"But Master," James, beneath the arm of the net cannon, was giving its bolts a final tightening.  He sat up to face the master of disguise, cracking his head on the stainless steel rig on the first and second attempts.  Rubbing his head in agony, he started again, "Master, how do we know that the twerp will pass right below here?"

"Yeah!" Meowth blurted.  He hadn't trained under the venerable Rocket agent, and therefore lacked the respect that his two teammates showed.  From his perspective, Meowth couldn't even see why they were bothering with the old man.  "It's not like dat ting has a real big range or anyting.   What makes you so sure da twerps'll come by here?"

"Ah, my young, feline friend," Psi graced him with a small smile, one that stretched his wrinkled face in a seemingly unnatural way, "It is simple to one with the wisdom, intelligence, and proper respect for one's enemy."

"Hah?"

His smile disappeared as he continued.  "While my cohorts among Omega Red have been whiling away the hours trying to kill the boy any way they can, without an iota of foresight in their efforts."  He couldn't help but shake his head, muttering about the travesty of youth being wasted on the young.   "I, in the meantime, have been carefully studying the very nature of that we seek to destroy."

"I see!"  Jessie stood, clapping in delight at her own perceived intelligence.  "You memorized that Ketchum brat's psychological profile, and used it to determine the most likely path he would take through the city based on his deepest fears, his most inner desires, the conflict between his id and his superego-"

"She's one to talk about superego," James whispered to Meowth, who chuckled.  They both received a dirty look from Jessie, but she wouldn't dare go off on a rampage in front of her master, which made James and Meowth the luckiest pair of males on the planet.

Psi shook his head.  "Actually, my dear, I merely had to take one of his habits into account."  He checked his watch, nodding in self-satisfaction.  "You see, it's currently half-past one, and I know for a fact that the boy hasn't eaten in hours.   Therefore, it was a simple matter to find the street that featured the most abundant, most convenient, and most importantly, cheapest food available."

The three Rockets stared at him blankly for several moments of disbelieving silence.  Psi chose to enjoy the quiet while it lasted.  When one killed people for a living, things were very rarely quiet.  He had come to accept that the tortured screams of another came with the territory, but had never truly liked it.   'Ah, well,' he thought, 'There will be plenty of time for quiet when I retire.'

"Is dis guy for real?" Meowth murmured as quietly as he could to his companions.  "He's gotta be nuts or someting!"

"Just watch and see, cat." Psi overheard him, despite Meowth's obvious attempts at keeping the comment guarded.  "Just watch and see."
* * *

"Oh, God," Dixie tugged at Ash's arm, the one not shouldering a Pikachu, as he made a move towards another street vendor.  This time, it was a pretzel wagon featuring wares of less-than-dubious quality.  The low quality of the vendors hadn't seemed to slow down Ash's metabolism, though, as she had watched him mow through a hot dog and a slice of pizza without stopping to breathe.   Between him and Pikachu, she was beginning to believe that they were never going to reach the gym.  "Will you stop listening to your stomach for just five minutes?"

"Hey!" Ash tugged back, trying to get his arm out of her ensnaring grasp.  "It's been five and a half minutes since we hit the hot dog guy, thank you very much.  Now come on, Pikachu and I hear the call of rich, twisted bready goodness.  Right, partner?"

"Pika!"  Pikachu ran across Ash's shoulders and began thumping on Dixie's grip with his tiny claws, trying to get her to let go.  "Pi, chu pikachu!"

Brock looked down at his watch, shaking his head.  "He's right.  Leave it to Ash to time himself between meals."  Then again, he thought to himself, he had just timed it as well.  Who was sadder?  Shaking off the disturbing thought, he said, "She has a point, though.   If we keep this up, the gym will be closed before we get halfway there."

"And if I don't keep this up," Ash countered, pulling hard enough to drag Dixie along with him towards the vendor, "I'll waste away before we get halfway there.  Therefore, the pretzel side wins."  He pulled his protesting burden over to the large, mustached man by the stand and began to haggle with him.

Though she squawked and complained, Brock could easily see the laughter in Dixie's eyes and hear it in her voice.  He couldn't help but see just how alike she and Misty were, especially when it came to yelling at Ash.  It was no wonder the two of them felt a mutual attraction...

And his thoughts continued on like this until something reached down from the heavens and pulled him skyward before he could utter a sound.

Ash, returning with a pair of twisted brown treasures for himself and Pikachu (who was undoubtedly going to get sick on all this food Ash was feeding it), couldn't help but laugh as Dixie swatted him across the shoulder.  "Hey, Brock," he chuckled at the ire of his girlfriend, "You want a bite of my...Brock?"

"Where'd he go?"  Dixie's head swiveled on her neck as she stood on her tiptoes to try and spy the spiky-headed, wayward friend.  "He was just here a moment ago."  It was strange...as if something had just snatched him up.

"Ah, don't worry about him," Ash scoffed, taking an abnormally large bite out of the pretzel without gagging.  "Brock probably saw some pretty lady.  Trust me, there's nothing Brock likes better than a pretty face."
* * *

Jessie's pretty face nearly split as she grinned at the struggling package in their possession.  Though she couldn't see through the opaque plasteel of the net, there was no doubt in her mind that they had finally done it.  After all, it had been her steady hand and sharp eye that had been guiding the net launcher, hadn't it?   "Oh my God!" she squealed, grabbing James and Meowth by their hands and dancing with them around the muffled screams of their prisoner, "We finally did it!"

"We caught Pi-dah, I mean, da squirt!" Meowth sang.  "Oh, whadda glorious day dis is!"

Psi allowed the tomfoolery to continue for a few seconds, and then cleared his throat noisily.  "Children, do not forget; we aren't finished yet."  He toed the package carefully, watching it thrash about at his slightest touch.  If Psi had any weakness at all, it was his burning sense of curiosity.   Try as he might, he could not shake the desire to see just what it was about this pipsqueak of a trainer that made it so important to Giovanni that he be killed...and more importantly, just what it was about him that made him so difficult to kill.

James tugged experimentally on the sacked-out, squirming prisoner.  "He's a lot heavier than I thought he would be.  Guess he's been hitting the vendors a little too hard lately."  A muffled hollering came from the bag, causing James to jump back.   "He's a feisty one!"

Jessie stepped in, pulling a blackjack from the inside of her jacket.  In one fell swoop, she cracked the bludgeoning sock across the head of the bag.  Whoever was inside, they quickly slumped over, completely unconscious.

"Wow..." James' jaw hung with shock.  Jessie had always been brutal and to the point, but this was a new level in brutality.  "Where'd you get that, Jess?"

She shrugged.  "Send away."

"Quickly," Psi cut short the idiotic banter with a wave of his hand, stalking away from the edge of the roof.  "Bring the boy.  We shall find a modicum of privacy, and then do away with him."

Jessie snapped her fingers at her boys, following in Psi's footsteps.  "You heard the man.  I knocked him out, so it's only fair that you carry him."

James and Meowth exchanged pained expressions.  Then, groaning and heaving, they picked up the incapacitated, incarcerated teen, little suspecting that things weren't quite what they seemed.
* * *

"Mr. Ketchum!"

"Mr. Ketchum could we get a few words from you?"

"I LOVE YOU ASH!"

"Is it true you're currently in negotiation with 4 Kids Entertainment to do a movie about your life?"

"YO ASH, YOU ROCK!"

"TAKE ME AS YOUR PROTÉGÉ!  I WANNA BE AS GREAT AS YOU!!!"

"What are your opinions on the allegations that you're the love child of Hollywood starlets Benji Affekt and Natalia Portmanyana?"

"Do you have any comments before your match with Zephyr?"

"I WANNA HAVE YOUR BABY, ASH!"

Dixie was overwhelmed as they approached the steps of the Bluster City Gym.  There seemed to be a sea of reporters surrounding the entrance of the gym, and each of them was all but attacking Ash.  She had heard of Ash before meeting him, of course, but she had never known he was this famous.   By the look on Ash's face, she surmised that he hadn't known, either.  With a grim determination that was highly uncharacteristic of him, he shoved his way through the throngs, pushing past wave after wave of offending microphones and idiotic questions.

More disturbing, however, was the turnout of fans that had shown up.  She could see hundreds of people surrounding the gym, and it was clear to any observer who they were there to see.  Everywhere she looked, there was a red and white hat perched atop nearly everyone in the crowd.   Many had drawn Ash's trademark 'Z' beneath their eyes, albeit some were backwards while others were hopelessly crooked.  One oddity in particular intrigued her, and that was the dozens of women there who had died their hair reddish orange.  Each of them wore some kind of variation of the same outfit; a yellow, sleeveless shirt and cutoff shorts held aloft with red suspenders.   Although the outfit didn't ring a bell, there was no mistaking that red hair...

The gym itself was also quite a sight to behold; it was easily the largest building in the area, boasting a height of at least a hundred feet.  It consisted of a series of rising black pillars surrounding a majestic, rising wall of glowing white marble that seemed to shimmer in the sinking sun.   A trio of rising staircases led up to the towering doors of the gym.  Each of the doors must have weighed thousands of pounds.  Luckily for anyone interested in getting in the gym, the doors each had a smaller door built within it.  The doors, as well as the rest of the gym, were engraved with a variety of Pokémon.   Ash himself could easily identify a dozen types, all of them second or third stage evolutions, and all of them insanely strong.  Was that what awaited him inside?

At the top of the stairs they saw McAlistair, standing calmly next to a podium.  Both looked out of place; the podium, as it was almost blocking the entrance to the gym, having been hastily erected mere moments before the media circus.  Next to the gym, framing the entrance was a pair of forty-foot tall plasma screens.   The screens were darkened at the moment, but would soon come to life with what Ash and Dixie could only surmise would be Ash's battle with the gym leader.  Alistair, however, stood out thanks to his steam-pressed three-piece suit, crisp and creaseless and painfully businesslike compared to the disheveled ocean of reporters and fans.   His tiny, slitted eyes lit up at the sight of Ash, Dixie, and Pikachu.

"It's about time!" he huffed, catching Ash's arm and dragging him up the rest of the stairs before Ash could even let out a peep.  "Now, remember the line; Silph products are what got me where I am today."

"Right, right...um, waitaminute-" he blinked as McAlistair shoved him behind the podium, "You want me to speak now?"

"No time like the present, I always say."

McAlistair shoved the babbling boy out in front of the gathered throng, situating him behind the hastily erected podium, all the while ignoring Ash's stuttering protests.  He kept a firm hand on Ash's shoulder, planting him in place lest he get any ideas of retreat, and leaned over to speak into the small bloom of microphones situated atop the podium.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began judiciously with a smile so fabricated, Ash could have sworn it had been purchased from a catalogue.  "I am pleased to present to you one of the finest trainers ever to grace our planet, as well as a close personal friend of mine..." At that, Ash couldn't help but roll his eyes, even as his protests fell silent.   "The official trainer of the Silph Corporation, provider of quality Pokémon training products for generations, both past and yet to come..." he swept his hand across the podium, nearly knocking Pikachu off of Ash's shoulder as he stepped back, "ASHLAN KETCHUM!!!"

There was a tremendous roar from the crowd, as if McAlistair had told them they would each be receiving a cash dividend simply from attending.  For many, however, the chance to see their hero, the boy who had conquered a league of men, was better than any sum of money.   As Ash stared blankly at his fans and reporters, it was all he could do not to scream in panic.  Never before had he realized just how many people out there held him as an icon like that.  There were hundreds of people out there dressed up like him...heck, some of them made a better Ash than he did!

"Uh..." he swallowed.  The crowd quickly grew silent, hanging on to each sound that their hero made.  Many had waited years to hear Ash speak in person.  They waited, exploding with anticipation.  "Uh...Hi."

Another roar seemed to shake the steps of the gym as the crowd went wild.  Dixie was hard-pressed to keep on her feet as the audience went into frenzy, clawing and screaming uncontrollably.  A line of Silph security appeared as though from nowhere, pressing the fans back.

Ash winced, his fear doubling.  He had faced down legendary Pokémon, demon Pokémon, and megalomaniacs, both sane and not so much.  But this...this was just sick.  It was as if these people would rip him apart if they ever got the chance.   It reminded him of the Indigo League finals, where his own loyal fans in Kanto had pulled a one-eighty and turned against him.  It was not a happy memory...

It reminded him just how fragile a fan's love could be.

"I'm..." he whispered hoarsely into the microphones, suddenly choked up.  "I'm gonna go battle the gym leader...uh, now.  Kay?"

He stepped quickly from the podium as the fans exploded with approval.  The sound was deafening.  Waves of adulation ripped across the gym square, shaking the very ground they stood on as the fans clamored to get past the police assigned to keep them back.   As Ash, Dixie and Pikachu entered the towering doors of the gym.  The floor still trembled with the roar of the crowds.  Even through the door, Ash could hear their cries and shouts, nearly drowning out McAlistair as he began accepting the barrage of questions being hurled from the section of reporters.

Ash forced all of that from his mind, trying to concentrate on the battle to come.  The instant Dixie had closed the door behind them, they had been swallowed up in darkness.  He had taken a few blind steps forward, uncertain as to what was supposed to happen, and wondering if he should turn back and ask McAlistair, when a shimmering shaft of light erupted not more than a dozen meters away.   Though his eyes stung and watered, he managed to catch a glimpse of a figure standing in the light, wearing a dark black cloak.  The figure's face was obscured, and it was hard to determine the figure's build as well.  Ash couldn't tell whether he was dealing with a man, or a woman, or even a Pokémon in disguise.

His first clue came quickly, though, as a deep, imposing voice reverberated about the chamber.  *YOU!* the figure raised a single hand wrapped in the hanging folds of the cloak, singling Ash out with his finger.  Ash and Pikachu took a step back at this, eyes growing wide with surprise, and just a touch of fear.   They had been expecting a Pokémon battle, not some wacky kind of mystic inquisition.  *You are the one they call Ash Ketchum?*

"Uh..."

*SILENCE!* the figure boomed, his voice assaulting them from every direction at once.  *You know not the terrible wrath that you have brought upon yourself, Ash Ketchum.  You seek this,* the figure extended his hand, palm up, raising it as if calling forth some hidden power.   Without warning, a small explosion of smoke and light enveloped his hand.  When the smoke cleared, the figure held a small badge between his thumb and forefinger.  It was a triangular crest, with a curved field of blue slashing across the center.   *You seek the Galebadge, do you not?*

"Um,"

*Well,* the figure drew the badge back into his cloak quickly, throwing his other hand out to the side.  As if by magic, more explosions of colored smoke and light detonated in a circular pattern around him, casting his light-blurred image in hues of demonic red and tranquil blue all at the same time.   *In order for you to obtain this, you must overcome impossible odds-*

"Excuse me-"

*Defeat unbeatable Pokémon-*
"Ex-cuse me!"

The figure was on a roll, casting his arms about with each new proclamation.  The air in the room seemed to shift with each of his gestures, blowing so hard that Ash had to slap a hand on top of his hat lest it be ripped off of his head.  *Prepare yourself for the battle of your life, Ash Ketchum...   It will be a battle that-*

"HEY!" Ash shouted angrily, cupping his free hand over his mouth to try and be heard above the din.

The figure paused, letting his arms drop.  Immediately, the wind ceased, and the smoke was cleared.  *What?* he asked, his voice taking on a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"Do you..." Ash waved his hand in front of his face, momentarily gagging on the smoke.  "Do you think we could cut the drama out and get to the battle?"

*You mean you don't want to do the pre-fight show?*

"Show?" Ash was confused.  Was this the gym leader?  If so, he was certifiable, that was for sure.  "No, I didn't come to put on a show.  I came to get a badge.  Now, are you the gym leader?  Could you take me to them?"

*Oh, saints be praised.* The figure slumped over in relief.  He looked up at an unseen ally, waving his hands to signal.  *Okay, Wind, let's bring the lights back to normal!*

In an instant, the shaft of light disappeared, and the normal lights of the gym rose slowly so as not to blind its occupants.  Trying to will his pupils to close faster, Ash cast his gaze about the gym.  At first glance, it seemed fairly straightforward; there was a single battle floor, larger than any he had ever seen before, and completely bare from its metallic brown floor up to its towering ceiling.   If he had to guess, he would have placed the entire gym at being equal to about four football fields placed end to end and side to side in a grid pattern.  At the moment, he, Dixie, and Pikachu stood near the centerline of the battle arena's lengthwise side, only off by the sidelines.

The cloaked figure seemed glad to shuck the mystery as he approached them.  His hood fell back, revealing a middle-aged man with a bright shock of red hair with gray seeping in at the temples, green eyes that crinkled at the edges, and a ready smile that flashed as he stuck out his hand to greet the trainers properly.   "The name's Zephyr, m'boy.  I run the Bluster City Gym.  I suppose you'd be Ash Ketchum?"

Ash nodded slowly, taking the man's hand with a bit of trepidation.  After that rather odd entrance, he wasn't quite sure what to make of this gym leader.  From his experiences, there was no other group of people more prone to oddities and quirks (some of which were more dangerous than others).   "That's right."

"McAlistair said you'd be coming.  However," he took Dixie's hand with a delicate kiss to her knuckle, smiling suavely.  "He said nothing about sending a lovely lass such as this with you."  Dixie blushed, much to Ash's annoyance, but he let it pass for the moment.   Casting his eyes downward, Zephyr brightened immediately.  "And this must be your Pikachu."

"Pika." Pikachu's head tilted.  It was rarely regarded in a manner as Zephyr was doing right now, especially by gym leaders.  However, the Pokémon had a keen knack for sensing danger, and Pikachu didn't sense anything like that from this man.   "Cha?"

"I've heard quite a few tales about this little fellow, let me tell you." He dug into his pocket, coming up with a tiny brown treat.  Now it was Pikachu's turn to brighten, as it hopped up and down excitedly until Zephyr gave it to the tiny mouse.   He caught Ash's disapproving, suspicious glare, and tried to reassure the young trainer with another smile.  "Not to worry, lad, it's all-natural.  I wouldn't try to drug your Pikachu just before a match, now would I?"

Ash scratched the back of his neck, still not convinced.  "You'll have to forgive me.  I've had a bad history with a lot of gym leaders, and...Well, after that entrance..."

"That?"  Zephyr laughed, slapping his knee.  "Oh, laddie, I can't blame you for being suspicious after all that hullabaloo."  

He began leading them to the opposite end of the stadium, where they could see a single trainer's box rising a dozen feet or so above the bare floor.  A small blue flag stuck from the front of the box about halfway up, jutting out at an odd angle.   There was another box at the other end of the field, with a red flag set up identically to its counterpart.  Ash made a mental note of the flags, wondering if they would have something to do with the match.

"Y'see, you and me, we're not so different, Mr. Ketchum." Zephyr continued to explain as they walked the hundred yards or so to the box.  "The Silph Corporation provides over ninety percent of my gym's funding, so they've got me by the short hairs just as they do you."

"Uh, right..." Ash drawled, wondering what he meant by "short hairs."  "And please, just call me Ash."

"All right, lad," Zephyr nodded agreeably.  "Ash, then, d'you see those little cameras situated in the ceiling high above?"  He cast his finger upwards for Ash and Dixie to follow.  Ash squinted, catching a faint glimpse of light reflecting off of what he could only assume was a lens.

"Sure, I think..."

"Well," Zephyr continued, "That big blowhard out there, McAlistair, got the smart idea to broadcast this on all the major training networks across the globe.  He came to me, and told me to put on some kind of show for the public."  He snorted.   "Buncha Tauros trollop if you ask me, lad.  But you know the public.  An all-out battle royal isn'a good enough for 'em.  They need a bloody show to hoot an' holler at."

Despite his first impression of the odd man, Ash was beginning to like Zephyr.  As they neared the trainer's box, he caught sight of another man, this one considerably younger than the gym leader.  He possessed the same red hair and green eyes, and a smile no less charming.   "Oi!" he hollered, waving to the three.  "I've got everything all set up, Pops!"

"Good job, lad!" Zephyr waved back.  "That's my son, Wind.  He aims to take over the family business, he does."

"Zephyr," Ash looked around, taking the entire gym in.  He was almost positive that someone could transplant the entirety of Indigo's main stadium into the gym, complete with attached Pokécenter, and still have room to fit Speedy's diner, the Velocity Burger, off to the side.   "This place is amazing!  I can't imagine what kind of battles you could run in a place like this."

"Oh, aye." Zephyr nodded in agreement as they (finally) reached the box.  He gave his son a hearty clap on the shoulder, then led Ash around to the other side of the box.  Resting on the ground was a small blue platform that seemed to be connected to the box via a long, black slot that traveled the length of the tiny tower from bottom to top.   A small trainer's podium stood atop the platform, presumably where Ash would command his Pokémon from.  "My gym here is one of a kind, s'far as I know.  You see the floor there?"

"Yeah?"

Zephyr leaned in close to the pair with a twinkle in his eyes.  His voice became low and mischievous.  "In another five minutes, you won't recognize this place a'tall.  Y'see, we have panels built into the floor that rise up when activated.   My son here will do that from the control box way up yonder."  He pointed, indicating a skybox jutting from the lengthwise wall.  It hung above the doorway, which explained why he and Dixie hadn't noticed it when they had walked in.  "The walls are completely random, so I won't have any sort of field advantage on you, and they'll form a right puzzlin' maze."

"That awesome!" Dixie exclaimed.  "You came up with the concept all on your own?"

"Aye,"  It was Zephyr's turn to blush now, which he did so unabashedly.  "Now, let's get this show on the road.  Wind, show the lovely lass up to the box with you, will ye?"  His son looked all too happy to do so, and stuck out his elbow, which Dixie took graciously.   "Now, Ash, you just situate yourself up here, and pick out eight of your Pokémon to use.  The war's about to start, lad."  He started off in a quick step for his own box with a spryness that was unusual for a man his age.

Ash stepped onto the platform, which immediately began to rise with a sudden jolt.  Pikachu had to scramble atop before it was left behind.  By the time the platform had gotten halfway to the top of the trainer's box, Ash finally processed everything that Zephyr had just said.

"Wait a minute," he cried out, "What do you mean, EIGHT Pokémon?  What war?"
* * *

Brock awoke slowly, unaware of where he was, what had happened, or how the back of his head was sporting a lump the size of an orange.  At the moment, all he could discern was that John Phillip Sousa was doing a half-time show inside of his head, and was already on his third encore (which was odd, considering that marching bands rarely performed encores).   However, the darkened room he was in quickly came into focus as his consciousness slipped back into his grasp.

One of the first things he noticed was that he was tied to a chair with thick bands of coarse twine.  There were several bands of the stuff wrapped around his chest, as well as a pair securing his wrists behind his back, and another pair latching his ankles onto the legs of the metal folding chair.   A quick glance about his surroundings didn't tell him much; all he could see was row after row of boxes, stacked as high as the ceiling.  He himself was in one such row, with boxes sitting about two feet to the left and right of him.  A single hanging bulb provided his only illumination.

"Hello?"  He strained against his bonds to no avail.  Whoever had tied the knots had done a halfway decent job in making sure he didn't do anything but stay put.  "Hello, is anyone there?  I, uh...I seem to be tied to a chair...somehow..."   His memory of the moments leading up to the painful blackness he had experienced for an indeterminate length of time was a little hazy.  He recalled Ash and Dixie, and something about pretzels, and then...Well, he assumed that's where the gigantic lump on the back of his head came in.

"Ah," a weathered voice echoed from all around him, "Our guest awakens."  It wasn't a voice that Brock could immediately place, which instantly put him on the alert.  What was that old phrase?  Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

A familiar trio soon rounded the corner, followed by someone Brock could only assume to be the one who had spoken.  Faced down with devils both known and unknown, his worry soon tripled.  Jessie, James, and Meowth parted, making way for a grizzly old man as if they revered him.   The old one wore a broad black hat and coat to match, which hung loosely off of his thin skeleton like a sheaf of curtains.  His gnarl-toothed smile sent cold shivers down Brock's spine as he approached the chair-ridden boy.  "Hello, young one." The old man greeted him with a cordial sweep of his hat.   "Feeling all right, I hope.  That was some knock on the head Jessie gave you."

"Who are you?" Brock demanded, "Where am I?  What do you want with me?"

The old man sighed.  "Young people.  You have no respect for manners anymore, do you?  Very well."  He stepped back, pulling a small device out of his jacket.  It was comparable to the size and shape of a Pokédex, and even sported a similar sensor packet on the front.   Ignoring Brock completely, he began to sweep it across the Rock Master's face.  Upon reaching proximity to his face, the small black box sent a small shaft of light running across every nook and cranny on his mug.  "My real name," he said in passing, "Has escaped me over the years.   Such a tragedy, really.  I seem to recall it being quite a nice name.  In any case, most people know me as Psi."

"Psi?" Brock rolled the unfamiliar sound around in his mouth.  "Wait a minute..." He began running through the Greek alphabet, or at least what he could remember.  "Alpha, Beta, Gamma...something, something...uh, squiggle..." Then his eyes widened.   "Waitaminute!  You're part of that Omega Red dealie!"

With a raised eyebrow at the word 'dealie', Psi nodded slowly, retracting the light beam back into his black device.  "Correct.  Master Psi, if you're feeling formal..."

"Master of what?" Brock spat, struggling twice as hard to shrug off his bonds, and receiving the same results as before.  "Lies and trickery?"

"Quiet, fool!" Jessie hissed.  She pulled her blackjack and raised it high above her head, as if to clonk Brock across the cranium once again, but Psi raised a single hand, holding her attack at bay.  She still sneered at Brock fiercely with a glimmer in her eye that warned the beefy young breeder to watch his tone.

"Wait and see, my young friend, wait and see."  Calmly, Psi attached the device to his belt beneath his coat.  Then, removing the outer garment entirely, he flexed his aged body a bit.  With his heavy black overcoat on the floor, it was clear to see that there was little of him left; his ribs jutted out, almost bursting from the tight black material stretched across his concave chest.   With calm, steady hands, he drew a black hood from his pocket and placed it over his head.  There was a pair of holes for the eyes, and a tiny slit for the mouth, but nothing more.

Brock couldn't have kept the sarcasm from his voice even if the notion had interested him.  "So, you're going to kill us by knocking over a seven-eleven?"

"First off," Psi spoke through the fabric, muffling his voice a tad as he fiddled with the apparatus on his belt, "The Ketchum boy is our only target.  I have no real interest in harming you...though if that mouth of yours doesn't learn some proper respect quickly, I may do away with you out of annoyance."

"Ash?" Brock wasn't sure what to feel first; relief on his own part, fear for his friend, or just a bit of indignation at being left out.  "What makes him so special?"

"I don't know.  If he gives Mr. Giovanni a tenth of the aggravations that I am experiencing in my dealings with you, he felt it more than justified...Ah, there we are."  He stepped back once more, tapping one final control on the belt apparatus.   "Now, watch closely, and do try not to blink."

Brock came the closest he ever had in his entire life to opening his eyes with shock as the assassin's body seemed to shift and undulate beneath the black material.  Jessie, James, and Meowth, however, gaped openly as a miracle (or an anti-miracle, depending on your perspective) began before their very eyes.  

In less time than it takes to write about, Psi's body had taken upon itself to change...and it was most definitely an improvement!  It was almost as if every part of the old man's body was expanding and re-molding itself into something far more powerful.   For an instant, that was exactly what Brock thought, that it was indeed Psi's own body that was re-shaping.  Then he caught sight of the old man's hands, which remained unchanged, even as new muscles cropped up where ribs and bones had been only moments before.   It must have been the black suit that he wore...that was the only explanation that didn't involve satanic rituals or massive doses of bulking powder.  Still, whether it was magic or not, something was causing the old man to grow to a rather impressive height...if Brock had been standing, he'd daresay that Psi would now be at about eye-level with him.

"And now," The now-brawny old man spoke from beneath the black mask, "For the finishing touches."  Without looking, he tapped another control on his belt.  This time, his body, which looked uncomfortably familiar to Brock, remained still.  Instead, it was Psi's face, or rather, his mask, which began to change.   The black color shifted higher on the spectrum, becoming lighter with each passing second as the fabric rose in some places and sunk in others, creating a whole new face.  Small fibers rose above the eyes forming into dark bands that would become eyebrows momentarily, even as millions more rose from the top of the head.   These fibers climbed stiffly, clumping together into a mass of curved, brown spikes that splashed from Psi's crown and hung in the air, defying most known laws of physics (and ascetic decency).

Thirty seconds after the entire business had begun, Brock found himself face to face with an exact duplicate of himself, complete with slanted, narrow eyes and brawny macho build.

"Well," Brock's voice sang flawlessly from the duplicate, who smiled haughtily with twisted lips.  It was an arrogant expression that had no business being on his face, but nonetheless, there it hung, not more than a few feet from him.  "What do you think?"

It took Brock several tries to find the words, and several more to get them past his utter amazement.  "S-s-sure..." he tried to find that same defiance that had shone through before, but it had long since departed.  "You look good, but you're still a Ratticate."

"Sticks and stones," Psi clucked with Brock's voice, waggling Brock's finger at him, "Sticks and stones."  He took several steps back, folding his arms behind his back.  "Now, Jessie, James, if you wouldn't mind, I'll be needing a change of clothes."

"Hey, what are you doing?" Was what Brock intended to say, but he was cut short when Jessie brought the blackjack across the back of his skull, knocking him out cold again and giving him a second lump.  

James admired the blackjack as Jessie replaced it inside her jacket.  "Man," he shook his head, "I have got to get me one of those things."

"Shut up, Jimmy Boy, and let's strip this chump." Meowth groused, removing the ropes from Brock's unconscious form.  The vocal cat began tugging at Brock's pants, even as Jessie turned away with embarrassment.  "Hey, he has nicer boxers than you do, Jimmy." Meowth examined the pink, silk pair that Brock wore, dotted with tiny red and white Pokéballs.

"Meowth, you little...Hey, you're right!"
* * *
"Wait a minute," Ash spoke into the communication speaker as his platform locked into place high above the battle arena.  "Why do we need eight Pokémon?  I only have six."  Even as he spoke, he placed his five Pokéballs into the slots in front of him, glancing at the three open slots he couldn't fill.   "Don't most gyms only use six anyway?"

"Well..." Zephyr's face appeared in the corner screen, flickering for a moment as the fiber optic connection solidified between the two boxes.  "Y'see, this ain't exactly Indigo, lad.  A lot of leagues don't have the same restrictions as your Island does, and that includes the Rule of Six."

"Okay, so it's an eight-on-eight battle?"  He felt a small sliver of relief.  As long as a few of his Pokémon were able to take out more than one.  And with hard hitters like Pikachu, Charizard, and Articuno, it wouldn't be too difficult to do so.   "I'm game."

"Welllll," Zephyr drawled again, "Not exactly.  See, the object of this isn't to simply beat your opponent into submission.  How boring is that, eh?  Been done a thousand times, it has.  So that's where these bonnie wee flags come in."

Ash took a peek over the railing of his box, and saw the blue flag hanging limply from its post on the front, several feet down.  Below the flag was his Pikachu.  Pikachu looked a bit tense, but otherwise ready for the battle to come.  "I see 'em.   So?"

"The object is to use all eight of your Pokémon at once to capture your opponent's flag while defending your own.  It's sort of like being commander of a fighting unit."

Ash was about to ask something else when the entire building began to shake.  He grabbed hold of the railing, trying not to fall on his butt in front of millions of viewers.  Nothing could have kept the astonishment from his face as the floor of the gym rose up in dozens of spots, forming towering walls that levitated to meet the ceiling high above.   Before he knew it, a solid wall blocked his view of the opposing side, with only a tiny vertical slit serving as the entrance to what was no doubt a mind-boggling maze.

"So, laddie, y'ready?"

Ash wasn't anywhere near ready.  His head was spinning at all the changes that had taken place in the last few minutes, but refused to ask for a delay so that he could cope.  He was forced to do what he did best; to act on the fly, and pray that he was making the right decision.   Without an ounce of hesitation, he removed all but one of the balls from the slots, replacing the others onto his belt.

"Ash," Zephyr frowned, his on-screen image looking off at some unseen screen of his own, "I see you've only got two for the battle today.  Do you want to reschedule so that you can get a full team out here?  I thought you'd've come prepared..."

"Oh, I'm prepared all right," Ash assured him.  "I've never done something like this before, so I figure that quality is better than quantity in this case.

"No skin off my back." Zephyr shrugged.  Suddenly, a flash of light erupted from behind the Pokéball in the slot.  Ash cried out as the ball was swallowed up by the slot, drawn within the trainer's control podium before he could do anything about it.   "Don't worry, lad, your beastie's fine.  That flash of light you saw was just a little something to help the battle go smoother.  We've encoded your Charizard's digitized form with a headset that'll materialize when he does.  Oi, Wind, did you give the lad's Pikachu a headset?"

A voice came over the loudspeaker, and Ash recognized it as Zephyr's son.  *Sure did, Pops.  Ash'll be able to see everything his beastie sees on his monitor, same as you.*

*Knock him dead, Ash!* Dixie's voice cut in, echoing across the gym.  Ash couldn't help but smile, and he gave a little wave at the control booth before refocusing his energies on the battle ahead.

Zephyr finished everything on his end, then nodded.  "All right, if we're ready, then...Hit it, Wind!"
*BATTLE COMMENCE!*

"Pokéball, go!" Ash commanded, slapping the launch control on his podium.  Immediately, a red and white ball flew from the box and out into the open space ahead.  It split apart on an unseen hinge, exploding forth with a wave of brilliant, blinding white energy that flew forth and struck the floor.   The energy danced and remolded itself in an instant, shifting its shape and reconstituting itself into matter more quickly than the eye could follow.  In the blink of an eye, the energy had coalesced into a towering mass of leathery orange hide that was Ash's only Dragon Pokémon.

"Charizard, Pikachu, I CHOOSE YOU!" Ash called out.  He caught sight of a headset resting on the right side of either of his Pokémon, even as they flinched and clutched at their respective ears, crying out in pain.  "Oh, sorry."  He had forgotten about the radio system, and had inadvertently given them quite the earful.   "I choose you." He said again, this time far more softly.  

'All right,' he thought to himself, 'It's time to come up with some kind of strategy...'  Zephyr's Pokémon were undoubtedly coming for his flag, and he was (also undoubtedly) using all eight of the allowed Pokémon in this battle.  If he added that to the fact that he didn't know what kind of Pokémon Zephyr was sporting, it all came together to form a big, fat mess sitting right in his lap.   He could send both of his boys out to try and capture the flag, but that would leave his own flag unprotected.  

"Pikachu," he addressed the thunderous mouse below him, leaning over the railing to talk to it face to face, "I want you to stay here and guard the flag with me.  Charizard," At its name, Charizard let out a snorting sigh of flame, leaving its nostrils smoldering as it looked to Ash, "You're gonna be our offense, buddy.   I want you to go after that flag with everything you've got.  Okay?"

Charizard rumbled, nodding.  Before Ash could get another word out, it took off with a ferocious roar and a beat from its leathery wings.  It nearly blew poor Pikachu out of the ring as it streaked towards the maze, disappearing into the darkened corridors.

A tense silence fell over the arena for the next several minutes as Ash watched intently on his screen, observing the live video feed coming from Charizard's headset.  It was odd at first, observing a battle from a first-hand perspective, but then again, Ash was no stranger to being in a Pokémon's line of fire, and he adjusted quickly.   Every now and then he'd whisper Charizard some simple instructions when the dragon would reach a dead end, but for the most part he let it move out on its own.  Ash knew better than anyone that Charizard was the independent type.  Not only that, but it was just as stubborn and determined as Ash; whatever the battle, Ash knew Charizard wouldn't fail unless it couldn't help but do so.

A flash from the opening of the maze on his side interrupted his thoughts, instantly bringing his focus back onto the real and the now.  He felt that old familiar charge of adrenaline rush through his body as several darkened shapes emerged from the corridor ahead, darting forth and taking shape in the light of the arena.   He did a quick count as they rushed forward, trying to identify them even as they barreled down on his Pikachu.  Their species weren't difficult to discern; a blue-green Poliwhirl complete with swirling belly, an oozing, bubbling Muk, a snarling, flaming Typhlosion, a snickering Sneasel, and a soaring Skarmory.

"All right, Pikachu," Ash gritted his teeth, gripping the railing of his podium hard.  "Start off with a Thunderblast!"  

Pikachu began to glow with a sparking amber aura, coming to life with crackling flames of electricity.  Within moments, it had built up enough of a charge to make a power plant green with envy, and with a cry of its name, sent out a storm of razor-edged lances in a half-sphere of destruction.   Zephyr's Pokémon held back from their charge lest they be blasted back by the force of the minuscule mouse.  His Poliwhirl skidded to a halt and desperately began scrambling back from the electricity that could prove fatal to it.  True, both Ash and his Pikachu had trained to fight without the use of lethal force in a battle, but nevertheless any one of the bolts could easily lay the aquatic soldier out.   One of the thunderbolts struck the Skarmory's wing, sending a massive charge through the metallic bird.  With a screech of pain, Skarmory crashed into the gym floor, sending an explosion of fragments and dozens of spiderwebbed cracks flying across the floor.

"Pika!" Pikachu had little time to celebrate, as Zephyr's other Pokémon were close at hand.  It dodged a flying lavender glob of acidic poison from the gym leader's oozing sludge pile, becoming a blur of yellow lightning as the Sludge attack struck where it had been and was already eating a crater into the floor.   Pikachu sent a hail of golden stars into the slimy Muk at Ash's command, and so was unprepared for the column of pure flame that enveloped it, sending it flying.

"Pikachu!" Ash cried out.  He nearly leapt off of his platform in a panic, despite the twenty foot drop below him.  He saw Pikachu emerge from the flames, singed but otherwise unharmed.  The tiny mouse landed on all fours, its claws scraping against the floor as it skidded to a halt.   Already, Zephyr's Typhlosion was bearing down on Pikachu, readying another burst of flame as Zephyr's Sneasel was backing it up, brandishing fearsome, gleaming claws with a dark smile to match.  "Pikachu, quick, use Thundercharge!"

Without a moment to spare, Pikachu leapt forward, charging up again.  This time, though, it kept the charge within itself, instead using the energy to give its Agility ability tenfold the power it would usually have.  The Pokémon leapt forward faster than the eye could follow, striking the lurching Typhlosion like a bullet and ricocheting away in an instant.   Typhlosion was knocked back, landing squarely on its Sneasel support before the black hearted Pokémon could dodge.  Pikachu carried the charge through, striking the still-recovering Muk with the residual momentum.  A spray of toxic ooze exploded from the contact point as Pikachu came to another screeching halt several feet away.   Even Pikachu couldn't help but smirk with satisfaction as the Typhlosion and the Sneasel scrambled, falling all over each other trying to get up even as their slimy companion slumped into a heap and began to spread, losing cohesion as it fell unconscious.

Using the momentary victory, Ash stole a glance at his monitor, and was relieved to see that Charizard had made it through the maze.  Zephyr's flag fluttered in the distance on his screen, with a trio of Pokémon guarding it.  He identified them on the fly; a Diglett poking out of the ground with leering eyes, and next to it, a Dodrio with vicious, gleaming talons.   Most fearsome, however, was a Machamp with its dual pair of arms folded across its massive chest.  Ash desperately hoped that the camera added more than ten pounds, because it had to be the biggest of its species that he had ever seen.

"Charizard, you still on-line, buddy?" An affirmative snarl came through the vid-link.  "Okay, here's the plan.  It looks like he's got quite a bit of defenses lined up, so let's make this a hit-and-run; spray them with some heavy fire, then snatch the flag in the confusion.   Got it?"  Another roar informed him that Charizard was hip to the plan.  "Okay."  Ash glanced back up from the screen, and saw to his dismay that Zephyr's forces were already regrouping for another attack.  His eyes narrowed, and his teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw in irritation.   "All right, 'laddie'," he muttered, "You wanna dance?  Let's tango."
* * *

Dixie observed the battle from high above in the control booth.  The overhead perspective was a contradiction in and of itself.  It gave her the heady sensation of seeing the battle from atop an unreachable place, much as a god would look down upon such a conflict.   At the same time, though, she felt powerless to help Ash...and from the looks of it, he could use all the help he could get.  She turned to Wind, watching as he sat by calmly, watching with casual disinterest.  He had a single wireless earpiece resting snugly in place that made a faint buzzing every so often.

"It seems like your father has a lot more experience at this than Ash does." Dixie lamented, crossing her arms with worry.

Wind nodded, never letting his gaze shift from the arena.  "Yeah, Pops always was a good tactician.  He'd never admit it, but he has a flair for warfare."  The boy shrugged.  "Not one of his prouder talents, but he's parlayed it into a fine gym, he has."   Wind suddenly leaned forward, his interest piqued.  "Say now, it looks like that lad of yours has finally made it to the other end...now things'll get interesting." He said to her with a wink.

Dixie fingered her sunburst locket, an old habit she took to whenever her nervousness grew.  So far, the battle had been interesting.  That was the way a lot of Ash's battles had started.  She hoped it didn't grow to be disastrous, as sometimes those battles did.
* * *

Charizard leapt forward with a ferocious snarl.  It had been weeks since it had been faced with a decent challenge, much to its own great annoyance, but now, with three Pokémon between it and its prize-

Now it was playtime.

It barely heard the boy's voice droning on in its ear.  Charizard rarely paid attention to Ash unless it was absolutely necessary based on the simple fact that it knew better.  Certainly, the boy was nice enough, as pathetic humans went, but really; was Charizard honestly supposed to listen to something as ridiculous as a soft-skinned, non-elemental being that it could crush between its jaws as easily as a grape nut?

All of that escaped its mind, replaced with pure, animal rage.  There would be no cute moves here, no "Fire Spin," or other such nonsense like that.  As Charizard streaked forward, it let loose with another bellow.  This time, it allowed the burning anger within it to belch forth, spraying a jet of red flames halfway across the arena.   The Diglett drew back into the ground and sped off, leaving a trail of displaced floor tiling as it retreated.  Zephyr's Machamp flipped back in time, avoiding the flames as well.  Dodrio, however, wasn't nearly fast enough, and received the full brunt of the attack.   With a shriek from each of its three heads, the bird was blown back and into the trainer's box, cracking the plasteel material before dropping in a heap.

Zephyr smiled as Charizard charged forward, heading straight for the flag.  "Not bad, big fellow, not bad a'tall.  Still, we can't have none o'that, can we?  Diglett, show our guest the door, will you?"

Diglett, still underground, made a u-turn and began streaking like an underground bullet for the still-airborne Charizard.  It stopped just below the gi-normous dragon, and was about to pop out with a fearsome Rock Shatter attack.  Diglett's plan took a turn for the worse when Charizard simply landed, stomping flat on the tiny lump of displaced tile that was the only indication of Diglett in the ring.   A small squeak escaped the pile, and then all was silent in the gym as Zephyr and his Machamp looked with new appreciation at the snorting Charizard.

"Boy-oh, I'm impressed." Zephyr whistled.  "You are one cold-hearted son of a gun, I'll give you that.  Machamp, looks like it's down to you, lad."

Machamp's froggish face split into a grin.  It, too, was always looking for a challenge.  With slow, plodding steps, it began to advance on Ash's Charizard.  With each step it took, it made sure to crack one of its knuckles nice and loud, adding to the drama.   Charizard snorted tendrils of flame, its teeth bared and a snarl ready on its lips.  

Things just got interesting.
* * *

"PIKACHU!"

Pikachu was far beyond hearing Ash.  It had managed to put Poliwhirl down for the count with a few well-placed bolts of electricity, but Zephyr's Muk had recovered in the meantime, and that left four other Pokémon still to deal with.  Things had been going all right, considering, until Muk had swallowed Pikachu.   The tiny mouse's outline was visible even from Ash's box, and was pounding from the inside out, its muffled cries growing more and more desperate.  

While Muk had Pikachu occupied, the others had formed a pyramid, with Sneasel at the top, to snatch the wavering blue flag.  The snickering Sneasel snatched the square of fabric, post and all, and jumped down from the Poké-pyramid, which promptly split apart into its gleeful components and made tracks for the entrance to the maze.

"No!" Ash cried out.  His fist slammed into the control panel, momentarily blurring the image from Charizard's headset.  "Pikachu, Thunder!"
* * *

The police were having a hard time keeping the enormous crowds outside of the gym in check as the match between Zephyr and Ash was projected from the plasma flat screens, towering above everything but the gym itself in the large stone forum outside the gym's enlarged doors.   Each time Pikachu or Charizard scored another decisive hit, the crowd was reduced to a writhing frenzy.  An unseen hold gripped the populace, and in their common love for the trainer, they sang together with one voice whenever he took another step towards victory.

"Look!" One of the more properly Ash-dressed teens raised a finger to the sky, which was rapidly growing as dark as night.  The pristine summer sky, unmarred by a single cloud all day, was suddenly swirling with a blanket of blackness that had arisen out of nowhere.   The clouds descended on the gym, meteorological warriors converging on the enemy's fortress.  They crackled with barely contained power, flashing with lightning and roaring with thunder as they expanded.  The crowd's cheers turned into screams of terror as quickly as the clouds had appeared.   Some of them, the ones on the edges that had arrived too late for the best positions to witness the match, were the first to run in fear, crying out in confusion as the storm bore down on the shining, pristine marble walls of the gym.
* * *

Ash could feel the storm growing outside, and not a moment too soon.  He could sense Pikachu's strength leaving it as it struggled against Muk's all encompassing, suffocating grip.  Indeed, his imagination must have been running amok, because he could almost sense his own breath leaving him.   "Pikachu..." he gasped, leaning heavily on the railing.  His imagination was almost too good...the edges of his vision were even going back, exactly as Pikachu's must have been.  "T-thunder, now!"

The ceiling exploded in a hail of shrapnel that rained upon the combatants in the arena.  There was far less debris than Ash expected, however, as the column of pure lightning that poured in through the roof's breach vaporized most of the material.   The bolt flew down and struck Zephyr's Muk square and true.  After all, how could it miss when the very force controlling it lay within the target itself?  There came a shrill cry, then the terrible smell of sizzling ooze as Muk was pumped filled the fury of the very gods themselves, brought down upon its own Pika-snack.  

With a snarl far too ferocious for such a tiny warrior, Pikachu burst out of the scorched Muk, which was clearly down for the count for quite some time.  Pikachu was bruised, it was battered, and it was covered with slime.  And yet, its eyes burned with untold rage that was completely uncharacteristic for the thundermouse.   Ash couldn't remember the last time he had seen Pikachu so battered, so absolutely livid.  The Pokémon has been swallowed, and that was the final straw.  Ash knew this was the time to keep a level head, but he couldn't help but mirror the rage that Pikachu felt.   He tried to suppress it, to push it aside, but it was too much.  Zephyr wasn't pulling any punches in this match?  Well, that was fine by him.

"Pikachu, GO!" Ash snarled, his own eyes blazing with Pikachu's fury.  No orders were needed after that.  Pikachu shot after the retreating Pokémon, charged with the power of pure lightning and filled with anger the likes of which it had never felt before.   Typhlosion and Skarmory had been on the bottom of the pyramid, and so were bringing up the rear of the pack order.  With a high-pitched roar, Pikachu threw a Thunderbolt high up at the Skarmory.  Unfortunately, the armor that made the bird so invulnerable was also the perfect conductor.   The charge channeled easily through the bird's body, flash frying it.  As Skarmory dropped to the floor, the overflow of energy still left in it leapt away and into the nearest available vessel, its Typhlosion cohort.  

Typhlosion was thrown against the walls of the maze, actually denting the durable alloy and slowing it down significantly.  With the reduction in speed, it was all too easy for Pikachu to catch up to it.  Rather than start a running battle, Pikachu leapt atop the beast's head and let loose with another charge, channeling this one through its feet, using it to both propel it at even greater velocity and send a painful jolt through Typhlosion's head, knocking it unconscious.

"PIKA!" the mouse roared, sending a charge of fear through the Poliwhirl that stood between it and the flagbearing Sneasel.  Of course, it was too late for worry; the springboard bolt of lightning that Pikachu was riding had already carried it past the Poliwhirl, sending it spinning away with the bolt's residual energy wrapping its hungry tendrils of power around the screaming blue Water type.   Within moments, Pikachu was nearing the Sneasel's pounding feet, even as Sneasel nearing the other end of the maze.  With a burst of uncanny speed, the Dark type burst into the opposing arena, where Charizard and Machamp were locked in deadly combat.  

Somehow, during the fight, Machamp had gotten hold of Charizard's neck, and was twisting it this way and that as the massive flame dragon spewed raging fire across half the arena.  It was all Machamp could do to hold on, but it clearly had control over its foe.   Charizard was furious over this, but it could not overcome Machamp's superior strength.  Strong though Charizard might have been, it was no match for a Fighting type in terms of brute force.  Machamp spotted Sneasel's barreling retreat and, with a whispered instruction from Zephyr, begun swinging the massive lizard by its angular head.   It must have been a dizzying vista for Ash on the opposite end of the video receiver, for certainly Charizard was thrown into disarray.  In point of fact, that was Zephyr's plan.  However, rather than throw the dragon into disarray, Machamp threw it into Pikachu.

Pikachu was blinded by rage, and had eyes only for Sneasel and the flittering blue flag clutched in its claws.  As a result, it was only aware of the massive, flaming comet hurtling towards it when the lighting of the stadium became blotted out.   Pikachu looked up just in time to spy Charizard's incredible, rotund bulk as it crashed into the tiny Pokémon's frame.  The floor beneath the Poké-pair gave way, cratering and flying apart beneath the strain.

Sneasel easily jumped the twenty feet up to the trainer's box, passing the flag to Zephyr with surprisingly nimble claws.  Zephyr smiled and waved the flag at the control booth.  Almost immediately, the lights flashed, then returned to normal.   The towering labyrinth retracted into the floor, quaking the floors until the final wall disappeared.

*BATTLE OVER!* Wind's voice echoed across the gym, cheerfully ending the match in Zephyr's favor.  *BATTLE OVER.  GYM LEADER ZEPHYR IS TH' BONNY WINNER*

Ash, was deaf to it all, however.  He leapt down from the box before it had even finished lowering to the floor, sprinting the two hundred yards until he reached his Pokémon.  They lay in a heap, surrounded by whatever remained of the floor beneath them.   "PIKACHU!  CHARIZARD!"  Neither one of them moved at their names, which only filled him with an even greater sense of dread as his feet skittered to a halt on the jagged fragments.

Zephyr had run to join him, shouting into his headset for Wind to hurry down with an emergency med kit, but Ash was way ahead of him.  Reaching into his pack, which possessed an organization that only Ash's scattered mind could understand, he withdrew his potion gun and a pair of revival doses, which he promptly injected into them.   Slowly, Pikachu's eyes fluttered open, staring sadly up at Ash.

"Cha?"

Ash hugged Pikachu to his chest.  Tears escaped from his eyes, and he didn't particularly care if the entire world saw it (which, in fact, they did).  Soon, Charizard returned as well, rumbling in pain.  It could not move, only groan.   Ash threw himself atop Charizard, sobbing openly.  How could he have been so stupid?  He totally lost control of himself...he sent two Pokémon into a battle with four-to-one odds...he hadn't found a strategy...but worst of all, he had gotten two of his best friends hurt.   "Oh guys..." he sniffed, "Oh man...I'm so...oh man..."

Dixie stood quietly by, not sure what to say.  She had never seen Ash this upset, this emotional before.  Even after Team Rocket had run him through the wringer back in the Appalachians, he hadn't shed a single tear.  His face had been as stoic as a stone.   In all the time she had known him, he had been strong, never dropping the veneer of being a champion.  Now, though, with his Pokémon hurt, she could see straight into the core of Ash's being, and it was as soft and human as any other human being.  

Reaching forward tentatively, she placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort, but he was beyond noticing.  All he could do was cry and hold his battered friends close as Zephyr, Dixie, Wind, and the rest of the world watched on.
* * *

Several minutes after the match had ended, Zephyr escorted Ash to the gym's main entrance.  Beyond the doors, Ash knew, there was quite the reception waiting for him.  He could already hear the shouted questions of the reporters, the disappointed faces of his fans, and part of him didn't want to deal with it.   Part of him wanted to climb atop his Pidgeot and fly out the gaping hole he had already blown in the ceiling.  He knew better, though, just as he knew that he would have to face these demons sooner or later.

"Ash," Zephyr stood to his side, looking straight at the doors as Ash was, and thinking along similar lines.  "You fought a bonnie match, an' you have nothin' to be ashamed of.  If you want to use me back door-"

"Zephyr," Ash cut him off, quieting the older man with his soft, yet steely tone.  "I appreciate your kindness."  His eyes had lost all their tears, and were now as cold as ice.  Dixie, standing at his other side, wasn't sure if she knew Ash as well as she thought she had.   "Many gym leaders haven't shown me even a tenth of the courtesy that you have.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart."  

His gaze was still locked out straight ahead as he cradled his Pikachu in his arms.  Pikachu's breath was ragged, but steady.  It, too, fixed its tiny eyes straight ahead.  The same shame that poured through Ash poured through Pikachu.   The mouse's shame, however, stemmed from its failure in battle.  Ash knew that his Pikachu thought it had let him down, and that only made him feel worse.

"This is a demon I've been meaning to face for a long time." Ash said in a murky tone.  "Ever since Indigo, I've had this weighing me down.  It's time to get it over with."

As Ash opened the doors, Zephyr turned to Dixie and whispered softly in her ear.  "What in blazes happened to the lad at Indigo?"

"I think it was his fans back on the Island..." Dixie whispered back.  "They-" but before she could finish, she gasped as Ash took the very same podium he had stood at such a short time ago, before the match had begun.  McAlistair hovered nearby, glowering with disappointment at the former champion.   It was clear that the suit wanted to speak with Ash before the boy spoke, but Ash would have none of it.

"Well," Ash spoke into the microphone, "It looks like I was beaten...fair and square, I might add."  His voice echoed across the gym square as the fans and reporters looked on.  The clouds that had given Pikachu such power still hung above them, casting the entire ordeal in even greater gloom.   Even from so far away, Ash could see hundreds of faces streaked with tears.  "I..."  He choked for a moment, and Dixie was afraid he was going to cry again.

"Ash..." one of the fans standing up front, with replica hat clutched and crumpled in his pudgy hands, looked up to his hero with crying eyes.  "Ash, how could-"

"What?" Ash's own eyes flashed with anger.  "How could I lose?"  There was a collective gasp, and several people, including the man who had spoken, shrank back from the fuming teen.  "Good Goddess, how dense can you people be?"  

Dixie's hand flew to her mouth as Zephyr groaned.  "Oh no." she murmured.

McAlistair tried to drag him bodily from the podium, but there was no stopping Ash now.  He was on a major roll.  "Look, you pathetic bunch of Primeapes, I want you to get this through your thick skulls; I don't like a single one of you.  You people pick someone who comes into the limelight, and you praise and you worship him, and you elevate him to the status of a god..." his knuckles went white as he gripped the edges of the podium, "And then what happens?   He stumbles along the way, or someone else comes along, and you tear that person apart!"

"Ash," Dixie cried, "That's enough!"

Ash didn't even hear her.  His own voice had grown to an inhuman roar, which sent waves of painful feedback through the microphone system.  "I've seen people exactly like you.  They betrayed me once before, just like I'm sure you'll do now.   So go!  Go out and tell the world that Ashlan Ketchum is a pathetic, half-rate trainer who hates his fans and nearly got his own Pokémon killed!  Spread the word, tell everyone that I can't stand the sight of you!"  He turned to the group of reporters standing nearby, and pointed.   "You!  Are you getting all of this?"

"Every word, Mr. Ketchum." One of the reporters spoke up, completely missing Ash's sarcasm.

"Good.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to the twisted shambles that is the remainder of my life.  I suggest you all go back to yours."  He began to step down from the microphones, but then thought better of it when he cast a glance at the fuming suit McAlistair, who stood nearby ready to pounce.   Clearing his throat, he added.  "Oh, and Silph products are what got me where I am today."

The crowd erupted into a flurry of chatter as it dispersed.  McAlistair tried feebly to draw them back in with kind words of every sort, but they wouldn't hear of it.  Within moments, they were all gone, leaving only a few scattered banners and discarded signs as proof of their being there.   As for their "hero," he had placed his posterior squarely on the steps, still cradling his Pikachu.  Seeing that his chance was gone, McAlistair stormed over, looking for all the world as if a herd of rampaging Tauros couldn't stop him.  For a moment, Dixie thought he was going to strike Ash with his shaking fists.  

She began advancing on the executive, but she needn't have worried.  After the bulk of his anger was spent, McAlistair limited himself to stabbing a finger furiously at Ash.  His face was purple with rage, but his voice remained low and under control.   "Mr. Ketchum," he growled, "I have never approved of your employment with our corporation.  It gives me great pleasure, therefore, to inform you that our partnership is hereby terminated.  Enjoy the long walk home, MISTER Ketchum."  With that, he turned and stalked off.  

Ash didn't even seem to notice him.  He just sat there despondently, and despite Dixie and Zephyr's comforting words, he was completely alone.
* * *

Psi strode down the street in his new body, wearing an uncharacteristic grin on his equally out-of-character face.  The years had tempered his exuberant sense of joy, for he knew that joy was detrimental to any job in his line of work.  A single moment of happiness, or even the mere thought of joy, could knock the most experienced of agents off balance at a critical moment.   So, like all perfect assassins, Psi had learned to control his emotions to the point of where they might not have existed at all.

And as he strolled through the bustling downtown of Bluster, all of that training and control simply vanished.  Though the change was only skin deep, a part of him felt like he was twenty years old again, and he was enjoying it so much, it ought to be against the law.

-come to think of it...

But in any case, he was armed with a youthful, killer frame, rather than his usual, wrinkled, killer's frame.  With his patented confident smile, and practiced charm that returned after a lifetime of disuse, he turned the head of many a pretty lady from every direction.   From what he had read of the boy he was replacing, Brock wasn't much of a ladies' man.  Well, that may have been the poor dunce's problem, but it certainly wasn't one of Psi's.  Perhaps after he killed the boy, he would go out and enjoy the benefits of his exo-camoflage frame.   After all, it had a power supply for several hours, and he didn't anticipate any difficulty in this mission.

He entered the hotel that the kids were staying in, and gave the clerk (a lovely young thing in a tight sweater) a knowing wink, which was returned with bright red cheeks.  As he stepped onto the elevator, he double-checked the gas cartridge strapped to his wrist beneath the long sleeve of his stolen orange shirt.   Within the small plastic container was a deadly toxin that, when inhaled, would induce a heart attack in the victim, creating a one-hundred-percent fatal, seemingly natural, death every time.  The gas itself left no traces, making it all but impossible to discern any foul play in the victim's passing.

The doors of the elevator parted, allowing Psi to step off and make his way to the correct door with slow, measured steps.  He knew of Ash's failure in the gym battle, and fully intended on waiting for the boy and his friends to return.  He would expose them to the gas, which would not affect him thanks to the filters in his handsome mask, then be off and sipping a congratulatory glass of wine even as the paramedics came across the congregation of corpses.   Perhaps a nice red wine would be nice...that often went well with murder, and he so rarely got the chance to drink.

He strode up to the door and gently knocked on it, smiling inwardly.  "Misty?" he spoke as softly as his knock, allowing the voice modulators to alter his tone to something far more familiar to the watery wench.  "Misty, it's me, Brock.  Mind if I come in?"

There came a soft stirring inside, and Psi began reaching for the doorknob to enter.  Once inside, all he had to do was wait for Dixie and Ash to return, then-

Psi froze in his tracks as a cold circle of metal pressed suddenly against the base of his skull.  Taking only an instant to analyze the situation, he wisely chose to do nothing as the familiar shape dug into his neck.  He could hear muffled breathing from behind him, but that was all, which impressed the assassin.   If there was one thing Psi could appreciate, it was a person who was capable of sneaking up on him.

"Talk to her," as growling murmur drifted gently into Psi's ear, delicate enough to be sweet nothings from a lover, yet steely and unyielding at the same time.  "Tell her you forgot something, and you'll be back later."  Seeing as how the man was holding a gun to the bottom of Psi's brain pan, the Team Rocketeer was hard-pressed to refuse the request.

"Misty," Psi spoke as Brock again, "I just remembered, I left my Pokémon at the center.  I'll be back later, okay?"  Again, a soft stirring was his only response.  He was about to inquire as to any further instructions when the barrel of the gun was suddenly lifted, replaced a moment later with blinding pain that drove Psi to his knees.   A second jolt sent him into sweet, blissful blackness as the floor loomed at him.

"Sweet dreams, kid." Was the last thing Psi heard for quite a while.
* * *

Ash and Dixie strode from the Pokécenter, which was conveniently located only a few blocks south of the gym.  Ash, as always, was carrying Pikachu, though this time he still had the Pokémon cradled carefully in his arms, even though the nurses at the center had been able to treat his injuries handily.   As for Charizard, the dragon had been returned to its ball, no longer any worse for wear, but undoubtedly stinging from the recent, utter defeat.

...just as Ash was.

Ash had done his best to put on a brave front, but it was plain to see that his ego and his self-confidence had both been stung.  His head hung lower than it usually did, and as they walked, he didn't even glance to the side when they passed a fast food joint or a street vendor.   Dixie wasn't sure, but she thought these to be major warning signs, and so did everything she could to let Ash know she was there.  So far, it hadn't worked much.

"Ash..." Dixie slipped an arm around his waist, walking close.  "Ash, it's gonna be okay.  Y'all did great back there.  I'm so proud of you, really I am." She spoke, her accent growing thicker with her concern.  His soft amber eyes wore a dull sheen, as if the life had just been drained right out of him.   "Ash?"

"Dix..." She let out a tiny gasp, unable to squelch her excitement.  It wasn't much, but it was the first thing he had said to her ever since his disastrous speech back at the gym.  "Dixie..."

"Yeah, Ash?"

He looked up at her, raising a hand to cradle her face.  His touch was electric against her skin, and she shuddered, even though she knew it was the wrong time to be thinking such thoughts.  Her lips involuntarily pursed, just a little, as she waited with baited breath.   Was he going to...?

"Dix, I...I need some time to myself."

"I...Oh." Was the only reply she could think of.  Sagging her shoulders in disappointment, she stopped in her tracks.  Disappointment flooded over her, though from what, she wasn't quite certain.  Just what had she been expecting?  "I guess I understand..."

Seeing her reaction, he quickly tried to convince her otherwise.  "No no, not like that!" he insisted vehemently.  "Just for an hour or two, that's all.  In fact," he unclasped his Pokégear from his wrist and placed it in her hand, closing it with his and enveloping her slender fingers.   "Take Gear.  I want you to find the fanciest, most romantic restaurant in Bluster City, and make reservations for two at eight-thirty.  It'll be my treat, understand?"

"You mean," her eyes began to glimmer once more, "You still want to-"

"Hey," he assured her, caressing her cheek once more, but this time with a half-smile.  "After that let-down at the gym, it'll be nice to have something go right today.  And anytime I spend with you is right."  With that, he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.   "I just need to blow off some steam, all right?  It's a guy thing."

She smiled, and wrapped him in a hug that threatened to crush both him and Pikachu.  Releasing him, she trotted down the street, glancing back over her shoulder.  "Eight-thirty, don't forget.  You promised!"

"Right on the dot!" he called back, watching her go.  Once he was sure she was gone, he allowed himself to sag with depression once more.  Pikachu mimicked the fall, slumping down in his arms as if under some new, heavy weight.  "Dear God, he murmured as together they made their way down the street, "This has got to be the crappiest day I've had in a long time."   He kicked a stray can down a long, dark alley in disgust, cursing his rotten luck.  Disgust turned quickly to surprise, however, when the can came streaking back, missing his head by mere inches and sending him ducking low to the streets.  "HEY!"

A low chuckling came from the blackened, inky depths before him.  It was almost sinister in nature, but Ash was in far too bad of a mood to be intimidated by some lowlife mugger.  Pikachu leapt from his arms, landing on all fours and sticking close to the filthy pavement.   Sparks flew from the rodent's cheeks, a sure sign that Pikachu was in no mood to be screwed with.

"So," a velvety voice vibrated from inside the inky alley.  "This is the great Ash Ketchum of Pallet Town?  Former champion of the most heralded league in the world?"  The laughter grew, echoing past Ash and through the curiously empty streets.   "I have to tell you, I'm not impressed."

"Look," Ash sneered, each of his hands reaching for a Pokéball on his belt, "If you're one of those freaky, loser fans I chewed out, you can just turn around and head for home, because I'm not playing any games."

"Fan?" The voice sneered back.  "Who could ever be a fan of yours?  Look at you!  You use two inferior Pokémon against eight trained experts in an unfamiliar battle."  Ash could swear he heard a smirk in the stranger's deep male tone.   "You must be an idiot, because I certainly don't see a champion in front of me."

"Call me any names you like," Ash retorted, his fury increasing with each word the unseen stranger spoke, "But if you insult my Pokémon again, I swear to god-"

"God?" The voice continued to snicker, "What does God have to do with any of this?"  
A shape suddenly emerged from the shadows; it was Ash's stalker suddenly taking form.  All in all, the stranger was a fairly unimpressive sight.  He wore baggy cargo pants, camouflaged black and gray for blending in with his urban environment.   A loose fitting hooded sweatshirt covered his chest, black as coal, but lighter still than the stranger's face, which was as dark as the moonless skies in the wilds of the forest that Ash had known so well on his original journey.  No eyes peered back at him from the mask; the darkness it wrapped his features in was unfaltering.

"I would think that you, Ash Ketchum, of all people, would know," The man continued, placing a hand on his hips while raising the other to his temple, "That when it comes to Pokémon, it is the Goddess one must consider."

Ash's eyes narrowed with suspicion, even as he felt a sliver of fear strike his soul to the very core.  Was the stranger speaking of...? "What do you know about the Pokégoddess?" Ash demanded.  He knew little himself, and if the stranger was talking as Ash thought he was-

"Far more than you, Disciple."

That tore it for Ash.  "Who are you?  How do you know about-"

"Surely you recognize me?"  The stranger folded his arms flippantly, a smile forming beneath the mask.  "This non-face of mine does get around quite a bit."

"If I did, why would I be asking you?" Ash shot back.

The stranger was clearly floored by this, though he tried to hide it with little success.  "Haven't you seen my picture in the newspapers?" The black-clad figure inquired.  "Interpol's most wanted fugitive?  FBI Top Ten most wanted list?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

The stranger sighed, throwing up his hands.  For a moment, his façade of confidence (if it truly was an act at all) dropped.  "Honestly, Ash, would it kill you to pick up a newspaper once in a while?"  His tone was nagging, almost maternal, which was odd in and of itself.   "It doesn't hurt to keep up with the rest of the world, you know."

"Can we skip to the part where you tell me who you are?"

"PIKA!" Pikachu agreed, sending a few lances of electricity to either side in a display of power and frustration.  It didn't like strangers coming up and challenging its trainer, and its tiny patience was just about spent.

Sighing heavily, the stranger gave up.  "Solo.  My name's Solo, okay?"

"Solo." Ash rolled the unfamiliar name around in his mouth, committing it to memory.  His battle stance, however, didn't budge or falter.  "So, are you going to tell me how you know about the Goddess, or do we have to go through the ritual song and dance where I paste you across the alley, and 'then' you tell me who you are?"   Underneath it all, Ash was a little glad that this fruit basket had shown up.  Anyone would agree that he was having a rather bad day, and he wasn't going to feel the least bit guilty about taking it out on this masked nutball.

"You think you can take me on?" Solo laughed.  "That's rich.  I'll bet you can't even catch me."  His hand produced a Pokéball, prestidigitated from nowhere, and released the creature within.  Ash shielded his eyes from the dazzling light show, which allowed him to keep enough of his night vision left to see the largest Charizard he had ever laid eyes on.   The beast was covered from head to foot in scars that stretched across taut, rippling muscles he didn't even know a Charizard had.  His own dragon had quite a bit of strength, certainly, but hidden beneath a rotund 'bulk' that gave it the advantage over lighter Pokémon.

"Quick enough to play follow-the-leader, boy?" Solo hopped onto the back of his Charizard.  The beast roared then took off with a mighty flap of its leathery wings.  Soon, it was soaring high above, and Ash wasn't sure how long he could keep the duo in sight.

"Don't call me 'boy'!" Ash shouted back.  He ripped Pidgeot's Pokéball from his belt and released the enormous bird with a practiced snap of his wrist.  With gritted teeth, he kept his eyes sharply trained on the waning dot that was Solo and his Charizard.   "Pidgeot," he commanded once the Pokémon had coalesced, "See that Charizard up there?"  Pidgeot nodded, having no trouble spotting the flaming fury with its enhanced eyes.  "We've got a chase.  Fly, Pidgeot!"

Pidgeot's eyes lit with hidden power, emitting a soft amber-gold light as it fluttered into the air.  In no time at all, that light had surrounded Ash and Pikachu in mysterious energies that lifted them off as well.  Within moments, Pidgeot had managed to close the gap that separated them from Solo's Charizard as they streaked between skyscrapers.   As the chase continued, Solo grew cockier and brasher, leading them beneath low-hanging bridges and through a broadcasting tower.  Ash nearly lost his head to one of the low girders, ducking only just in time and barely keeping hold of his hat.

"Not bad, kid." Solo called back, forced to admit to himself that the kid had trained his Pidgeot very well.  It had taken the mercenary years to train his Charizard to be able to fly thusly.  Even though the bird didn't have to deal with the encumbrance thanks to the powers of the Hidden Machines, it was still no easy feat to keep its passengers from crashing into a wayward billboard.   "I'm mildly impressed."

"Mildly?"  Ash called back in disgust.  He couldn't be prouder of Pidgeot right now; the bird had been a bit shaky with its new power before, but now it was maneuvering with...well, with flying colors.  "Watch this!  Pidgeot," he locked eyes with his Pokémon, "Let's motor!   Show him what you've got!"

Pidgeot trilled an affirmative, then put on a burst of speed that shook the windows of every skyscraper within a block of their location.  The acceleration burst easily carried them past Solo, nearly knocking the Charizard out of the air as the bird and its two golden aura hitchhikers blew past.  

Below them, Ash could hear several car alarms wailing at the force of the shock wave that trailed behind him.  His eyes began to water, but he didn't care.  All he could think of was the rush he felt as Pidgeot carried them through a series of death-defying stunts through the artificial obstacles that the city had constructed all around them.   Buildings flew past and balconies shuddered as they spiraled up and through the city, creating blasts of air that put the windy city's famous meteorology to shame.  At last, when he was certain that Solo was one-upped, he pointed out the roof of one of the tallest buildings in Bluster, a high-rise apartment with a rooftop garden, and ordered a landing.

Pidgeot touched down flawlessly, lowering its passengers gently to the grassy rooftop before releasing them from its mystic hold.  Ash waited smugly for several moments as Solo caught up, setting his Charizard down with a floor-shuddering thud that nearly threw the merc trainer off of his Pokémon.  

Solo disembarked, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead and acknowledging Ash and his Pokémon with a salute.  "I have to admit, kid, that was some flying.  You must have worked with Pidgeot for months on something like that."

"Years, as a matter of fact." Ash rubbed Pidgeot on its beak as it trilled happily at the praise.  "It just got the glowing-thingie power a few weeks ago, but we've been working on that, too.  Right, buddy?"

"Pidgyoo!"

"I didn't hear you calling out any orders to your Pokémon there..." Solo commented, leaning against his Charizard, which was breathing heavily from the invigorating chase.  Solo, conversely, was the picture of calm and cool.

"Sure." Ash commented.  "Pidgeot knows how to fly on its own.  Why on earth would I have to tell it how to do everything?  That's just stupid training."

"You mean like you did back at the gym?"

"I-" Ash had no answer at this.  He stopped in his tracks, choking on the irony.  "That's different." He insisted, trying desperately to save face as he recalled Pidgeot into its ball.  "The two situations-"

"Uh-huh." Solo rolled his eyes beneath his mask.  "You know what?  I think we need a battle."

"Huh?"

Solo stepped back, allowing his Charizard to step forward.  The hulking brute snorted, sending rings of smoke from its nostrils as it sized Ash up.  "What, do I have to take a swipe at your Pikachu to get you to battle?  Do I need a gigantic 'R' on my chest?   Let's go; Charizard to Charizard."

Ash twisted his hat around, then pulled Charizard's ball from his belt after replacing Pidgeot's.  "All right.  You want a fight so bad?  I'll give it to you.  Charizard, GO!"
* * *

Misty sat propped up in bed, flipping through the manual for Ash's Pokédex as she sipped delicately on a glass of water.  Nothing would have hit the spot quite like a cup of ginger tea at the moment, but considering their financial squeeze, she dare not even consider giving room service a call.   As it was, she wasn't sure how Brock had managed to acquire the medicine that was, for the moment, keeping her cold symptoms at bay.  Her pharmaceutically befogged mind twitched involuntarily at the thought of the burly trainer.  She could vaguely recall him coming to her door during her hours of unconsciousness, but since there wasn't any sign of him, she could only assume it had been a dream.   After all, if it had been Brock, he would have at least left a note for her before splitting.  

Dreaming about Brock...that was all she needed.

As for Dexter, the device in question sat atop her nightstand, sandwiched between hers and Dixie's bed.  She had left it deactivated until she could find a solution to its predicament.  Before she had read the manual, she had held little hope of their ever repairing the wayward device on their own.   Yet, after reading the maintenance section of the comprehensive (and impossibly verbose) text, she knew exactly what had to be done.  

She was just finishing off her water when Dixie entered the room with a hangdog expression on her face long enough to catch beneath her size seven footfalls.  Misty craned her neck, trying to spy if Ash, Brock, or Pikachu was behind her, but as Dixie closed the door behind her, it was evident that she had returned alone.   "Hey Dix...What happened?" Misty asked, setting the text aside.

Dixie returned her greeting, plopping down on her bed.  Her shoulders sagged so much so that it took little effort for her to slide her jacket from her shoulders.  "Ain't y'all heard?  Ash lost the match at the gym."

"Oh no..."

"It gets worse." Dixie warned her.  She stood up, suddenly filled with an uncharacteristic anger.  Furious, she threw her jacket across the room, which landed harmlessly on a beat-up, filthy chair in the corner.  "Some weasel of a representative from Silph showed up.   After Ash lost his temper, he cut our funding.  We're on our own now."

"Oh no!" Misty's hand flew to her mouth.  Quickly, she threw aside the covers, standing on unsteady legs and clad only in her pajamas.  "Where is he?  Where's Brock?  We have to figure something out, quick!"  Despite her enthusiasm, Misty had to catch herself on the edge of her bed.   The medicines were still making her a touch dizzy, and try though she might, she still couldn't put her drug-dulled mind over her wobbly body.

"Easy!" Dixie didn't miss her near-fall, and eased her back down onto the bed.  Misty grumbled, but did nothing else to fight.  The sickening truth was, she was grateful for the help.  "Look, Ash said he needed some time to himself-"

"Lousy little twerp," Misty muttered, "He's probably just nursing his ego after the loss."

"Well, you'd know better than I do." Dixie assured her, standing once more and going to her bag.  "Anyway, I'm not sure what happened to Brock.  We lost track of him before the match, but Ash said that it was nothing to worry about."

"True enough." Misty nodded.  Even after all these years, they could never tell when their friend was going to run off chasing a skirt.  In any case, there was no one on Earth she trusted more to take care of himself than Brock Stone.
* * *

Brock Stone had no idea what he was going to do.

He had awoken some time after Psi had left wearing his clothes.  Consciousness brought with it a very large, very painful welt on the side of his head that felt like it was growing to be the size of a Skiploom...a very large, very painful Skiploom.   Other than that, nothing else had changed; he was still half-naked, strapped to a chair in the middle of some strange warehouse, surrounded by boxes on three sides, and three blockheads on the other.

Even worse was that his ticket to freedom sat just out of reach, sitting on a wooden box not five feet away.  They had been stupid enough to leave his Pokéballs in plain sight, but smart enough to make certain that there was nothing he could do about it.   He had to think, had to look for any opportunity he could take advantage of.  He may only get one...

He had watched the Rocket trio as they eagerly waited for the return of their Omega keeper.  Oddly enough, they seemed to go through a cycle; first, there would be peaceful silence.  Then one of them would do something to annoy another.  When that other complained, the third one would step in and tell them to shut up (usually it was Jessie or Meowth).   When that happened, total chaos would erupt, usually ending in some sort of brawl.  All in all, the whole circle lasted about five minutes before beginning anew.   Finally, with the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky, they seemed to have settled into some kind of temporary truce as dinner was being prepared.

James labored over a camp stove, burning several strips of bacon as Jessie worked with another portable hotplate to turn a pot of rice into a solid lump of white goo.  Meowth, in the meantime, was trying to peel potatoes, but found that the peeler fit poorly into his tiny paws.   Finally, the cat couldn't stand it any more, and threw peeler and potato to the floor.  The potato, being of rather poor quality, bounced back up and struck him squarely in the forehead, knocking him back into Jessie, who ended up spilling boiling water on James' leg.

"GAAAAHHHH!" the effeminate Rocket screeched, clutching his soaked uniform as he howled in pain.  Jessie apologized quickly as Meowth picked himself back up.  "Hot-hot-hot-hot-hot-hot-hot-hot-hot-hot!" James moaned, clawing at his thigh.

"Oh Meowth, now look what you've done!" Jessie sighed, taking a half-hearted swipe at the feline before attempting to salvage what remained of dinner.  "Looks like Team Rocket's fasting off again."

'Hello, sweet opportunity,' Brock thanked providence.  'I hear you knocking, so hold on, 'cause here I come!'

"It wasn't worth eating anyway." Brock smirked, ignoring the throbbing pain drilling into his skull.  "I've seen better food on a Denny's menu picture."

Jessie snorted, standing up and knocking the rest of the rice pot right into James' lap.  "And what makes you think you could do better?" She demanded, raising her voice to be heard over James' shrieking.  "What do you know, anyway?  You're tied to a chair."

"Fair enough." Brock smiled inwardly.  They had taken the hook.  Now it was time to reel them in, nice and slow.  "I just thought maybe you guys would like something actually edible, like...oh, I don't know...Fry-Up Surprise?"

"Fry-Up Surprise?" James forgot all about the searing pain.  His mouth was watering so badly that rivulets of drool were escaping the corners of his mouth.  Meowth would have laughed at this, but his own saliva was kicking into overdrive at the thought of Brock cooking up something for them.   After all, through the years they had been chasing the little dorks, they never failed to catch whiff of whatever Brock cooked for those ungrateful philistines, and it always smelled heavenly.  "What's in that?"

"Oh, it's sort of a secret..." Brock said coyly.  He leaned back in his chair, tilting the mobile, makeshift prison on its back legs.  "Rice, bacon, beef, peppers, carrots...and of course, my special ingredient."  He sighed heavily, hamming it up.   "But I guess you guys wouldn't-"

James rushed over and began tugging against Brock's bonds frantically.  The Rock Master could already feel the ropes being loosened, and the process was quickened when Meowth joined the fray.  James, in the meantime, was cackling gleefully.   "Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!" he squealed.  "We finally get to eat a decent-"

Jessie clobbered him on the skull with her blackjack, knocking him aside before she booted Meowth away from the prisoner.  "You two dunces!  Can't you think for one single moment without your sto-" She paused, thinking something over.  Then, curiously, she bent down and whispered to Brock, "Were those yellow peppers, or red peppers."

"Whichever you prefer." Brock whispered back.  "It works both ways."

"Really?" It was her turn to squeal.  She managed to regain control of herself after a moment, clearing her throat.  "Well, if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."  She pulled one of her own Pokéballs from her jacket and threw it to the ground, releasing her slithering Arbok.   "Arbok, keep an eye on the prisoner while we're gone.  Boys," She addressed James and Meowth as they dusted themselves off, "We've got some supplies to swipe."

Brock sighed with relief as they walked off.  So far, phase one of his plan was going well.  He just hoped that he could come up with a phase two before those nimrods returned.  Even now, he could feel Arbok breathing down his neck.  Whatever he did, he knew his plan needed to include taking down the none-too-friendly snake behind him.

"So, Arbok..." Brock managed to force out of his terror-frozen lips, trying his best to sound casual.  "Which do you prefer; red peppers, or yellow peppers?"
* * *

"Well, I guess you're right." Dixie nodded.  "No sense in worrying about Brock."

Misty, in the meantime, had tilted her head as Dixie had taken to digging through her bag in an almost frantic manner.  "Dix, what on earth are you doing?  You're getting clothes everywhere."

"Huh?" Dixie peeked up from underneath a pair of pink jeans.  "Oh, the clothes.  Well, I'm trying to find something to wear for tonight."  She kept digging, tossing aside perfectly acceptable articles of clothing as if they were headed for Goodwill.   "Jeez, I should have gone shopping."

The redhead frowned.  Tonight?  What was Dixie talking about?  Waaaaiiit a minute...she could vaguely recall Ash talking about something like that before he had left.  Blast that medication!  Now what was it?  Going to gym...no.   Read up on Dexter...no.  Date with-

Oh no.

"Oh." Misty blurted out.  "Oh!  Your, uh...your thing with Ash, the, uh-"

"The date." Dixie looked up, pulling her favorite blouse off of her face and tossing it aside.  "Yeah."

"Oh, but I guess Ash canceled on you after the match-"

"No, that's the cool thing." Dixie grinned, and Misty had to force herself to fight down the urge to strangle the smile right off of her.  "After the match, he practically insisted on taking me out tonight."  She sighed, her eyes growing starry.   "He said such wonderful things."  Regaining her focus, she gave Misty a serious look.  "I just want things to go perfect."

"Oh." Misty said again, this time with even less enthusiasm.  

"Misty..." Dixie hesitated a moment, which made her friend suspicious.  "I, uh...I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?"

"Favor?  What kind of favor?" Her curiosity piqued.

The southern belle rubbed the back of her neck uncomfortably, suddenly wishing she hadn't said anything at all.  With flushed cheeks, she waved it off.  "Never mind, it isn't impor-"

"No, seriously!" Misty insisted.  She didn't know what to make of this whole 'date' thing, but maybe if Dixie wanted her to do something, it would occupy her mind away from the notion.  "C'mon, what's the problem?"

"Well," Dixie's blush worsened, "It's just that...well, you and Ash used to date, right?"  Misty nodded as her heart grew numb.  "I was just wondering if y'all could, y'know, give me a few pointers to maybe make things go more smoothly."

Misty's mind became a spinning top of emotions and thoughts that she couldn't control much less understand.  Was Dixie asking what Misty thought she was asking?  Suddenly, the jumble of feelings came together and struck her with an idea, a purpose that she could not ignore nor explain.   With a wicked smile, her heart shrank to grinch-like proportions as the idea sunk into her befuddled mind.  Without knowing what she was thinking, she knew exactly what she was doing.

"So..." Misty drawled, "You want things to go perfect on your little date with Ash?"  Her smile was sickeningly sweet.

Dix nodded.  "It is our first date, after all-"

"Well then!" Misty cut her off, rubbing her hands together briskly.  "We'd best get started.  First off," she crossed the room, "We'll work on your wardrobe.  What were you thinking of wearing?"

"This." Dixie proudly held up a small pink tank top and a pair of faded blue jeans.  Holding the outfit over her front, she looked to Misty for an opinion.  "What do you think?  Is it cute enough?"

The outfit, when slipped onto Dixie's slender, curved frame, would look absolutely stunning.  Misty was certain that if Ash caught sight of the blonde bombshell wearing that combo, his eyes would bug out of his head.

After a moment of careful consideration, Misty shook her head.  "No.  No, that's not going to do at all."

"Really?  I thought-"

"Nu-uh." Misty insisted, rending it easily from Dixie's shocked hands and tossing it aside.  "It's way too slutty...no offense."  She began rudely digging through the other girl's bag, casting clothes across the room in search of the "perfect" outfit.   At last, she emerged from the bag triumphant with a cry of victory.  "Here we go!  This is perfect."

Dixie's mouth went slack at the sight of her old, tattered sweat clothes.  The sweatshirt had a number of holes in it, and the mismatching sweatpants were covered with paints of all colors from the month she and her grandfather had repainted his gothic lair/lab.   "Um, those are my old work-out clothes."

"Exactly!" Misty's brain raced to think of a reason why it was 'exactly.'  "You, uh, you know what an active imagination Ash has.  He, uh...he likes to imagine his date in something sexy."

For a moment, it didn't appear that Dixie would buy into the line of crap that Misty had just fed her.  She felt a droplet of sweat running down the back of her neck until Dixie took the clothes from her with an uneasy smile.  "I guess you know best..."

Misty returned the smile, sighing inwardly.  If she could convince Dixie to wear sweat pants on her first date with Ash, then she was in the clear.  "Now, about the rest of your date.  I know it's kind of strange, but listen to me, and you'll be locking lips in no time."

"Great!" Dixie leaned, looking over Misty's shoulder.  "I want our first kiss to be really special."
Misty's jaw dropped, as did the scattered clothing she held.  "Y-y-you h-hu..."

"Naw, I haven't kissed him yet... least not the way I'd like to."  She giggled, covering her rose-petal lips.

If any hesitation had existed in Misty's mind, it vanished as the image of Dixie's lips pressed sensually against Ash's replaced anything else.  She stood up, her knuckles cracking as they balled into fists.  "Now," she forced between gritted teeth, "We need to cover some other tips for your date tonight."

"Like what?"

"For starters," she began pacing the room, thinking of the best way to sink the date without ever realizing exactly 'why' she was doing it.  It just came naturally...which would have disturbed her if she had been thinking clearly at all.  "You need to act cold through the entire date.   And by cold, I mean absolutely frigid.  Sub-zero.  Absolute zero, even."

"Come again?"

"Look, it's really simple." Misty winked as if to reassure her.  "Ash loves it when a girl plays hard to get.  He and Brock are the same way."

"But in Brock's case, it never works."

"Well, that's Brock." Misty shrugged.  "Anyway, trust me; the more you resist Ash, the more he'll be all over you.  But don't let up!  You have to keep it on until he's gone crazy with passion and desire.  Then, when he can't take any more...BAM!" Dixie jumped as Misty drove her fist into her palm, finishing with an excited leap on top of the bed.   "He'll melt like butter-flavored putty in your hands."

"Hmmm." Dixie ticked off of her fingers.  "Dress like a skeezoid, and act like an ice-queen."  Looking up at Misty with expectant eyes, she asked, "Is there anything else?"  It was hard to believe, but Dixie was falling for every last one of Misty's tricks.

Rubbing her palms together once more, Misty could only smile at the poor fool's misfortune.  "We're just getting started, dear."
* * *

Ash gritted his teeth as he took another swing at Solo, sending his fist crashing at Solo's chortling head.  The masked man expertly ducked the shot, slipping around to the side and mocking Ash with each whiff that the teen took.  In the background of their fight, their two Charizards were locked hand in hand.   Ash's plumper Charizard was trying to overpower Solo's specimen, but the stronger 'Zard was clearly prevailing without putting in half the effort its opponent was.  In the meantime, Ash was having equal luck taking on Solo.

Solo sidled past another awkward fist, laughing out loud at Ash's poor fighting abilities.  "Is that the best you can do, chump?  I've seen grandmothers fight better than you!"  He gave Ash a hearty shove, sending the teen stumbling away.   Ash stumbled over his own feet, landing squarely on his bottom.  He ignored the pain, using the burning humiliation he felt to fuel his rage.

"I'd like to see a grandmother drive your teeth into the back of your head," Ash growled, picking himself back up and charging at Solo with a kamikaze punch.  "Because that's what I'm going to do!"

"Look at you!" Solo laughed again, catching Ash's fist.  He began squeezing Ash's hand until the pain became unbearable, driving the boy to his knees.  "This is just like your match with Zephyr."

"You seem to think you could have done better, given the circumstances," Ash grunted through his teeth, trying not to cry out in pain.  He could feel his knuckles starting to give under the pressure, creaking and cracking, straining against Solo's superior strength.   Any more, and Solo would break every one of his fingers.  "If you're so smart..."

"That's just it, kid." Solo stopped the pressure right where it was, keeping Ash in a painful grip.  In the background, Ash could hear his Charizard still losing the contest of strength.  By now, the beast was on its knees, trying desperately, as Ash was, to avoid any broken digits.   Solo's Charizard, on the other hand, had taken to beating Ash's with its thick tail, clubbing the other about the head brutally without remorse.  Solo, in the meantime, continued his tirade.  "It's not that I'm fighting smarter.  It's that 'you're' fighting stupid."

"I know you are," Ash growled, "But what am I?"

Solo sighed, but did not release his iron grip.  "I'm obviously stronger than you, and clearly a better fighter, just like Zephyr was more experienced and better equipped for the match you fought today."

Ash could feel an epiphany coming, which was usually never good, and almost always came in tandem with a headache.  Thinking tended to do that to the young trainer.  "So?"

"So," Solo continued, you did just what you always do; something stupid."  The older man pointed to where Ash's Charizard was being beaten as easily as a kitten.  "You decided that you couldn't handle all your Pokémon at once.  When you found out you could use more than you had, you didn't stop the match to get those extra two; oh, no, you decided to go with a quarter of Zephyr's fighting force."

"Easy to criticize when you're watching it on a screen."

Solo ignored him.  "Worse yet, you decided to micro-manage the wrong side of the match.  You should have been with Charizard every step of the way, and trusted Pikachu to handle the defense.  Instead, you went with your little favorite there, and it cost you the match."

Pikachu snarled at Solo from the sidelines, sparking and preparing to charge.  Ash raised his hand to stop him.  "NO!  Pikachu, stay back."  His glare of fury matched Pikachu's as he stared hard into Solo's blank mask.  "He's right."

"Good." Solo praised Ash smugly, but refused to let up.  In fact, his pressure doubled, giving Ash an incentive to think even faster.  "Now, what should you have done?"

"What I'm going to do."  Ash suddenly twisted his wrist, forcing Solo to try and re-apply his grip.  "Make my own opening."  As the older man fumbled, Ash slipped inside and grabbed him under the armpit, allowing his hip to slide next to Solo's.   "Look for a weakness."  Before the older man could stop him, Ash twisted around and tossed Solo with all of his and the other man's combined might, sending Solo flying halfway across the roof.  "And trust my Pokémon."  He rubbed his wrist for a split instant, then looked over to where Charizard lay on the ground.   "Charizard; improvise."

Charizard roared, sweeping his tail upward.  The bright flame that burned at the tip flared into its opponent's eyes, momentarily blinding the stronger dragon.  Charizard seized the opportunity, leaping up and wrapping its claws around the other's neck.   Shifting their tremendous bulks around, Charizard soon had its opponent on the ground, with itself placed atop and poised to strike.

"Not bad." Solo picked himself up.  "Not bad at all."  He cracked his neck noisily, shifting the bones back into place.  "Where'd you learn a move like that?"

Ash smirked, calling his Charizard off.  "A friend of mine showed me that.  Said she learned it tossing her sisters away from her own birthday cake when it came time to pick slices."

"Heh.  Sounds like a dangerous lady."

"She likes to think so."  

Solo offered him a hand and a grin, stepping forward slowly so as not to give Ash the wrong idea.  Ash took the hand, but he kept his eye on Solo in case the mercenary tried anything stupid.  "Considering how you handle your Pokémon, it's no surprise that you're the youngest ever to activate your powers."

"Powers?"

"During the match." Solo's expressionless mask stared back down at him.  "Didn't you feel it?"

Ash tried to recall.  There were several parts of the match where he had trouble remembering what happened...almost as if it were in a haze.  "No." he admitted.

"You will, kid.  Soon, too." Solo pulled his empty Pokéball from his belt and pointed it at his brawny Charizard.  "Hope you're ready."
Ash saw Solo recalling his Charizard, then starting for the edge of the roof.  
"Hey, wait a minute!  You're not going anywhere."  Ash, Pikachu, and Charizard started to advance on Solo just as he reached the edge of the skyscraper.  "Tell me what you know about the Goddess.  Do you know something about my destiny?   What are these 'powers' you mentioned?"  

With the setting sun falling behind them, Solo was cast in an eerie glow of reds and yellows, like a fallen angel.  The man turned to take one last look at the boy and his Pokémon.  Ash might have been mistaken, but there was almost a longing in the way Solo was sizing him up...almost as if he didn't really want to go.   That was ridiculous, though.  Ash had just met him, and didn't know the first thing about him.  He certainly didn't trust him, even if the nut job had helped him get his head back on straight.

"Every man must find his own destiny, Ash." Solo spoke slowly and evenly.  He produced a small item from the ether, palming it briefly as if in consideration, then ultimately tossing it to Ash.  "Here, catch!"  Ash fumbled for the item, jamming it in his pocket before he could even examine it briefly.   "Sometimes strength isn't a weakness after all.  Remember that.  And remember also; the Goddess works in mysterious ways.  She'll reveal her hand in time.  Until we meet again, Ashlan Terrance Ketchum."  

With that, Solo stepped off of the edge before Ash or his Pokémon could do anything about it.  They rushed to the rooftop's threshold and peered over, but Solo had vanished without a trace.  He had exited with as much mystery as he had both entered with and existed around.  

Frowning, Ash plunged his hands back into his pockets and dug out the small item that Solo had given him.  Immediately upon laying eyes on the tiny thing, his jaw went slack with shock.  A slow smile dawned on his lips as the sun set.  With evening on its way, he knew he had little time to act.   After all, he had a date with an angel, and if he played his cards right, the time before that wouldn't be a total wash.
* * *

"Slowly now.  Don't make any funny moves, see?"

Brock nodded, standing up slowly and trying to work the kinks out of his legs.  It was pretty likely that he'd need to run if things didn't go his way.  Having returned successfully from their ingredient raid, Jessie and James had then proceeded to set up his cooking equipment exactly to his specifications (which, he had to admit, they were quite diligent about, which suggested at least some competence in lackeying on their part).   After it was all done, they had untied Brock with a swipe of Meowth's razor claws.

"Now," Meowth snarled, "Make wit da cookin', and don't try any funny stuff."

"Gee," Brock rolled his eyes, "It's always been my dream to cook for three kidnappers while clad in my boxers and being policed by an enormous snake and a cat who talks like he's from Harlem."  Meowth's paw dug into his bare leg, and with a wince, he corrected, "Brooklyn.   Sorry."

"Gee..." James scratched his head.  "That sure is a funny dream-"

"Quiet you!" Jessie threatened him with her blackjack, which shut her other half up rather quickly.  Then she shook the black bag of sand at Brock, giving him the same warning.  "Just cook.  No commentary!"

"You're the shrieking boss, Jessie." Brock acknowledged.  He bent down to look at the cooking instruments laid out before him.  All in all, it was a fairly pitiful sight, but he had cooked with worse.  "I'll be needing an assistant."

James stepped forward.  "That'd be me.  I drew the short straw."  He looked back at Jessie and rubbed the lump on his head that he had walked in with.  Brock could only smile at Jessie's methods of persuasion, sickening though they were.   "What do you need me to do?"

"All right, let's see."  Brock started the cooking stove, letting his hand drift over the heating plate.  The air had already begun to shimmer as the temperature climbed to sizzling degrees.  With a satisfied nod, he began handing everything he could to James.   "I need you to hold this...and these...and those...oh, and hang on to that for me, too."  Before long, James was laden with a ladle, a cast-iron cooking pot, an assortment of vegetables, including peppers (both red and yellow), frozen slabs of beef, and a large black frying pan.   "Hold on..."

"Are you sure you need me to hold all of this?" James struggled under the massive weight, teetering back and forth.

"Hmmm..." Brock eyed the stack, searching for something.  "Oh, wait.  I need this."  He drew the large frying pan out, hefting it experimentally in his right hand.  "Yeah, that's the one."

"Whew," James sighed, still struggling under the now-diminished weight.  "Thanks a lot."

"No," Brock smiled sweetly, "Thank you."  He drew the frying pan back and clocked James on the head as hard as he could, striking his blue-haired temple.  James was blissfully unconscious before he ever hit the ground.  Then, before Jessie could respond, Brock brought the frying pan around full-circle, using the momentum to send Jessie into sweet, painful dreams.

"Meowth!" The cat screamed at his partners kissed the sawdust littering the warehouse's floor.  "I knew we couldn't trust ya!"

"Then why did you?"  Catching the back of Meowth's charm with his ankle, he slammed the cat's face down onto the heating element of the camp stove.  Meowth reeled back, clutching his face in pain, and so was unable to see nor block Brock's foot at it sent the Poké-feline flying.   He landed in a heap several boxes back, out of sight and no longer a threat.

Brock was just about to congratulate himself on a brilliant plan (brilliant in comparison to his captors, anyway), when he heard a low, rumbling hiss in his ear.  Without even bothering to turn and pratfall at the terrifying sight of Arbok, he instead leapt for his Pokémon sitting in their containment spheres atop the box nearby.   Rolling off of the top of the box, Brock picked one at random and held down the control button until it clicked, signaling it's readiness.

"Chew on this!" Brock tossed the ball over his shoulder, turning to coordinate the battle.  With a burst of photonic energy, one of Brock's Pokémon took shape on the battlefield, squaring off against Arbok with blazing eyes.  Brock took one look at his accidental pick, then groaned, "Oh boy."

"Pineco!" Pineco bounced up and down on its inverted peak, trying without success to intimidate the hundred and ten pound terror with its flapping sheafs.  "Pine!  Co, pineco!"

"Well, I suppose a good chef cooks with what he has." Brock muttered.  "Pineco!  Jump into Arbok's mouth!"  

Pineco complied unquestioningly, leaping in between Arbok's slavering fangs and hopelessly wedged itself in.  Arbok gagged at first, then began clamping down.  In moments, it would bite cleanly through Pineco, leaving only shards of bark behind.

'Just another part of the plan, right?' Brock thought to himself with a hard swallow.  "Pineco, use Explosion now!"  Pineco erupted into a ball of flames before Arbok could chomp through it or spit it out, engulfing the snake's head in fire and blasting it back into the wall.   Pineco fell to the ground, charred and unconscious, but still alive.  

Brock recalled it into its Pokéball, lamenting over having to use such tactics.  He had been trying for the longest time to teach Pineco different techniques, but without a great deal of success.  When one is a hopping pine cone without any limbs, elemental control, or even mobility, one has to rely on what one knows, and in this case, Pineco knew how to blow crap up.   "Great job, Pineco..." Brock murmured to the tiny ball, shrinking it back to mobile size and gathering up the others.

He set about repurposing the rope that had held him only moments before, using it to tie up Jessie, James, and Meowth after recalling Arbok into its ball.  He pulled a page out of their book and placed their Pokémon on the same box they had kept his on.   After that, he was all set to hightail it out of there, when suddenly he came down with an attack of conscience.  Looking back at the battered trio, he felt rather guilty for using their own hunger to trick them.  True, they had done it to him and his friends any number of times, but was he really like them?   There was only one honorable thing to do...

Sighing, Brock began setting up the cooking supplies once again.  "Well, it wouldn't be right to waste all this food you stole anyway, right?" He rationalized to the insensate Rockets as he began to bake and fry.
* * *

Wind strolled the arena floor of his father's gym with a broom in his hand and a song on his lips.  He swept at the shattered debris left behind from Zephyr's battle with Ash, making a note of where the floor would need to be repaired.  He had to admit, even though Zephyr hadn't been using his strongest Pokémon, he was still incredibly impressed with the way the former champion had battled.   Using only two Pokémon, Ash had sent Wind's father on a run for his money, keeping him on his toes until the last minute.

"It'll be a long time b'fore we see another match like that one, eh, Pops?" Wind spoke into his headset, speaking with his father on the direct link to the control booth high above.  "That Ketchum lad had you on the ropes for a few minutes back there."

Zephyr's voice came back through his earpiece, "Maybe so, lad, but I reckon he has some lessons yet to learn before he gets to be as good as they say he is."

Wind was about to reply when the gym's doors burst inward with a terrific bang.  Wind jumped three feet in the air, tossing his broom aside as the dark silhouette in the doorway made its way indoors.  He ripped a Pokéball from his pocket and expanded it, shaking it at the intruder.   "Who are ya?  I'm warnin' you, I-"

"Wind." The figure solidified in the dim lights of the gym, his face materializing beneath a worn, weathered red-white hat.  "Take it easy, it's just me."  Pikachu plodded along at Ash's side, looking up at Wind holding one of its comrades in the containment sphere against them.

Wind shrank the Pokéball back to its original size, clutching his chest.  "Ash!  Saints above, you scared the bejesus out of me." He panted.

"Sorry." Ash glanced back at the door, "The breeze caught it before I could grab onto it.  Guess we kind of scared you, huh?"  Pikachu nodded, clamoring up Ash's pant let and climbing up onto its perch atop his shoulder.  

"Listen, is your dad around?"

*Right here, Ash.* Zephyr's voice echoed across the awing arena, giving Ash the scare this time rather than Wind.  He clutched his hat lest it be knocked off by his startled leap, hanging on to Pikachu with the other hand.  *Sorry.  I forgot, this sound system 'is' kind of spooky.*
Ash looked up at the control booth, waving both his arms to signal Zephyr.  

"ZEPHYR!" he shouted, "HAVE YOU GUYS GOT ENOUGH TIME FOR A QUICK MATCH?"

*Well,* Zephyr's voice rang true, *We were closin' up shop for the night, but I suppose we could squeeze in a quick match.  Whadda ya think, Wind?*

"Sure thing, Pops!"

"THAT'S GREAT!" Ash shouted back, giving the unseen gym leader the thumb's up.

*Now stop shouting.  I can hear you fine through the external microphones.*

"OH!  I mean, oh."

It only took a few moments for the combatants to get to their respective corners, with Wind once again acting as moderator.  Zephyr took a few minutes to pull Wind aside and give him special instruction.  The boy glanced at Ash with a strange smile on his face, then raced off to ascend to the control booth while his father took residence in the red trainer's booth.  

Ash felt the familiar jerk of the platform rising high above, even as the battlefield began to form in tandem.  This time, the walls rose as a cascading wave, so Ash had at least some idea as to their formation.  Instead of a maze, they now would act more like crisscrossing barriers to keep Pokémon from taking a straight shot for their opponents' flag.   He nodded in approval at the set-up; mazes seldom agreed with Ash.  He could still recall the time he had bought the puzzle book two years back, despite Misty's warning, and had yet to complete a single one (much to the girl's amusement).  Strategies began forming in the teen's brain, forming complex assaults and counter-assaults.   This was the kind of thinking he excelled at, and it was about to show.

"Pikachu," Ash spoke crisply into the comm as he pulled a small, familiar device from his backpack and clipped it to his ear.  With a flick of its tiny switch, Ash felt a warm, fuzzy feeling expanding over his gray matter, followed quickly by a pounding, shrieking headache.   Wincing, Ash addressed his first Pokémon.  "Buddy, when this all starts, you're going to be in charge of keeping this flag right where it is.  Keep 'em goin' strong, okay?"

"Pika!" Pikachu nodded, adjusting its headset to rest better in its ears.  "Pikachu.  Cha!"

"A'right."  Ash began drawing Pokéballs out of his jacket, until he had set four of them into the eight slots in front of him.  Then he dialed up Zephyr on the monitor, replacing the status monitor with the old redhead's image.  "So, are you ready for a serious match?   No kid gloves this time?"

Zephyr smiled.  "Now why would ya think I was using kid gloves last time?"

"Because I actually stood a chance with only two Pokémon.  Now, let's make this one to remember."

"One second."  Zephyr switched his screen over to view Wind, who was steadfast at the controls.  "Wind, have you done what I asked you, yet?"

"Almost, Pops." Wind tapped his panel, working his way into the local broadcast networks.  In moments, he would have them under his expert control.  With a triumphant cry, he tapped the control panel.  "All set, dad.  Let's rock and roll!"
* * *

McAlistair sat in his presidential suite, sipping on a glass of wine (both of which paid for by Silph expense accounts) as he lamented on his company's extravagant spending regarding the Ketchum boy.  He poured over the numbers, sitting atop a designer couch, setting his glass down.   "Honestly, where does he get off spending a hundred dollars a week on food for four people and six Pokémon?"

The door suddenly burst open, startling McAlistair and causing him to knock over his wine, which ironically wasted twice as much money as the children had spent on food.  Before McAlistair could begin reprimanding his assistant, a short, portly man whose name wasn't important enough to remember, the man managed to huff out, "Sir, there's something you have to see!"

"Yes?"

"Someone pirated the local Fox network!" his assistant forced between rubbery lips, bending over after his thirteen-story marathon to get to McAlistair.  "They've usurped the local programming."

"Hmf.  It's about time, too." McAlistair poured himself another glass, sipping on it delicately.  "That network is an abomination to the airwaves."

"That's not all!" Snatching up the remote, McAlistair's assistant flipped the station to the network in question.  What should have been another endless repeat of The Simpsons was instead an enormous Silph logo, filling the entire screen as though it were a silent monolith.   "Take a look at this!"

"Hmm.  Interesting..." McAlistair examined the screen, then promptly returned to this numbers.  "Prepare an official apology to the Fox Broadcasting Network, then ask our numbers division to calculate the local influx of marketing from this golden tidbit of free advertising."

"Wait!" His hysterical assistant pointed a chubby finger at the screen as a voice came through.

"The Silph Corporation proudly presents," The screen's logo dissolved to show an aerial view of a very familiar gym, in which two tiny combatants were seen prepping their forces as the walls of the gym began to rise.  Though the image was blurry and flickering, McAlistair could swear he saw a tiny yellow Pikachu standing next to a red and white blob seated atop the blue podium.   "The rematch of the century!  Ash Ketchum returns to the Bluster City Gym to one again take on the reigning champion, Zephyr Breeze."

McAlistair snorted his wine, sending twenty dollars worth of the stuff up through his nose before recovering with his pocket handkerchief.  "Get me the broadcasting tower.  Shut down this event, and prepare a press statement denying any Silph involvement."   His assistant stood there, quivering, until McAlistair screamed "GO!"  He picked up his cellular phone and grabbed his suit coat from its hanger, storming out the door a moment later.  McAlistair didn't care how the boy had done it, but he would surely make the boy pay for all of this.
* * *

"I'm your bonny announcer, Wind Breeze." Wind spoke into his microphone, controlling the camera angles and various shots as his voice, along with the match preliminaries, were broadcasted out to the people of Bluster in stereo.  Far below, his father had already selected his toughest Pokémon, ensuring that this would be a match to really remember.   Ash, it seemed, had already registered four of his Pokémon, which meant that, while he had effectively doubled his forces from last time, he was still outmatched two-to-one.  "So far, our challenger has selected four Pokémon.  However, for our viewers at home not familiar with the rules, he can insert up to another four anytime during the match, so watch out!"

Ash stood on his blue platform far below, waiting for the signal to the start of the match.  His fingers clutched the edge of the podium, partly due to his rising nervousness, and partly due to the slamming headache that his Psychic Facilitator was giving him.   As much as he hated the device, though, he knew it was absolutely necessary for what he had planned.  Reaching around, he felt the small, hefty package in his backpack, already loaded with the even smaller object that Solo had given him.  He hoped that it wouldn't come to using it, but it was best to be-

*MATCH BEGIN!*

"Pokéteam, go!" Ash shouted, launching his other three Pokémon from the platform.  As with before, their energy/data forms had been augmented with the communications' headset, which would allow them to hear Ash's orders no matter where they were in the ring.   Each of the three formed as their energy was released, solidifying into the forms of Ivysaur, Wartortle, and Kingler.  Each of the Pokémon landed on the ground behind Pikachu, who stood by the opening awaiting the undoubted onslaught.  "Okay, guys, get ready."

They didn't have to wait long.  Moments later, Ash's side of the set-up was stormed by Zephyr's Pokémon.  His Sneasel was there again, mounted atop his Skarmory.  This time, however, Zephyr had chosen to put a Dragonair and a Donphan on his offensive team.   Ash smiled at his successful prediction; he had guessed that, in a truly serious match, Zephyr would split half of his forces for offense, and keep the other half back.  Since he thought Ash was only going to use half as many in the same manner, his tactics would leave Ash still fighting a two-to-one battle.  

"Time to shake the old guy up."  Drawing another Pokéball from his jacket, he triggered the release and tossed it into the ring.  "Charizard, I choose you!"  With another flash, Charizard was released into the battle as Zephyr's forces drew closer.   "Pikachu, counter-assault!"

"Pika!" Pikachu sprang forward, calling its friends to arms against the invading Pokémon.  With an explosion of electricity, Pikachu began the attack, bringing the Skarmory down as it had hours before, with a tremendous crash.  Wartortle and Kingler followed up the initial assault, adding their Waterguns to the mix and slamming the Sneasel against the back wall.   Ivysaur, in the meantime, was tangling with Dragonair and Donphan, keeping them tripping with its Vine Whips.

Charizard was about to join in the fray when Ash called it back.  "Hold on, big guy." Ash talked him down, putting one foot up on the railing.  "You and I are going on the offensive."  Charizard, who, seconds before, was furious at being called back, now smirked with delight as Ash climbed off of the tower and on to its back.   "Now, let's go.  We have a date with a flag!"

Charizard roared, flexing its legs and leaping into the air.  It soared past Pikachu's battle, taking a lazy swipe at Sneasel to make it think twice about attacking again, then began weaving through the series of walls.
* * *

"And Ash Ketchum has..." Wind stopped, blinking and rubbing his eyes to make sure he was seeing straight.  "Wait a minute, he's leaving his box!  Ash Ketchum has now entered the ring, and is riding atop his own Charizard!"  Wind quickly cut the transmission for a moment, bringing up his father on the monitor.   "Dad, can he do that?  Is he crazy?"

"It's not in the rules that he has to stay in his box, lad." Zephyr conceded with a grunt.  "Only that he has to get the flag."  His demeanor was a mixture of admiration and annoyance.  He fully intended on redrafting the rules after this match, making this a one-time deal.   "Well, if he wants to be roasted along with his own Pokémon, I suppose we'll have to oblige him, won't we?  Now, get yer head back in the match, boy."

"Right, right." Wind cut the audio back in and continued announcing the match.  "And Ketchum has almost cleared the central section.  Meanwhile, his defensive team has managed to drive Zephyr's attackers even further back.  It's looking like anyone's game, folks!"
* * *

Charizard swooped into Zephyr's side of the arena with Ash still on its back, who was clinging on for dear life as the lizard led them on a ferocious aerial bombardment of the area.  Ash's dragon had already begun spewing flames before it could even see what it was attacking, not to try and defeat anyone, but to scatter the competition...and there was plenty of competition!   Zephyr had saved some of his choice Pokémon for his defensive team, including his Poliwrath, a Golem, a Houndoom, and of course, his pride and joy, the Machamp that had defeated Charizard earlier.

Ash squinted as Charizard dodged the flames and water that Houndoom and Poliwrath sent at the airbound duo.  Still struggling with his headache, which he hoped was about to pay off, Ash caught Charizard's gaze.  "Four against one hardly seems fair, does it?"   Ash threw his arms out, releasing the two Pokéballs he had hidden up his wrist.
* * *

A crowd outside of the gym had begun to form ever since the dormant plasma screens had flickered to life, coming alive with the impending battle within the ivory walls of the urban fortress.  People everywhere stopped what they were doing and tuned into the match.   Those that could not reach Bluster Gym's square were forced to find whatever television they could, and tune in to the match from there.  Though several adamant Simpson fans complained about the match usurping their reason for being, their protests fell upon deaf, bedazzled ears.   Many who had been there for the tongue-lashing that Ash had given them after the match now stood in the square, watching him battle once again in a fight that they would someday tell their children about.

"Let's go, guys!" Ash's digital image cried out on the screen as his wrists erupted with Pokéball energy.  Before their very eyes, he produced his Pidgeot and Tauros from within his sleeves.  Pidgeot began circling the area, blasting away with terrific gusts of wind as its counterpart hit the floor running.   Tauros' hooves pounded against the tile as it flew towards Poliwrath, sending it flying and knocking it clear out of the ring with a horn-assisted Bodyslam.

One of the more heavyset onlookers, the very one that Ash had yelled at a few hours ago, stood among the crowd, enraptured as they were with the match.  He still clutched his replica of Ash's hat in his hands, twisting it uncertainly as the fight continued.   After the latest dazzling display, however, he slipped the cap onto his head wordlessly, looking on at his hero with renewed admiration in his eyes.  In the end, it didn't matter what his hero thought of him, only what that hero represented, and the bar he set for everyone to live up to...

The very best.
* * *

Ash looked back, seeing that Pidgeot and Tauros were keeping Zephyr's forces at bay.  He then pointed for Zephyr's podium, guiding Charizard down.  "Let's go, Charizard.  Double time!"  Charizard complied, jetting down with a trail of flame behind its massive tail.

With a gutsy, daredevil leap, Ash jumped from Charizard and grabbed hold of the outside railing of Zephyr's box.  He locked eyes with the other trainer, flashing a smile at the older man.  "So, what do you think of my strategy?"

"I think it's insane." Zephyr smiled back.  "Besides, those two can't hold out forever."

Zephyr was right; Pidgeot and Tauros were keeping Zephyr's Pokémon at bay, but just barely.  Already, Machamp had a grip on Tauros, and was trying to wrestle the bull to the ground.  Though Tauros was easily twice the other Pokémon's weight, it simply didn't have the muscle mass to combat the fighting fury.

With a grunt, Ash wrenched the flag from its post, hanging from the railing by one hand with the flag waving brilliantly in the other, his feet braced against the red vertical wall facing him.  "I don't need all that long."  He let go of the railing, disappearing from sight and leaving the gym leader in a panicked state.   Match or no match, Zephyr didn't want to see anyone hurt over a stupid badge.  He leaned over the rail just in time to see Ash rip a ball from his belt and toss it below him.  The ball disgorged its Pokémon, and within an instant Ash was being suspended in midair as his Abra, sleeping tranquilly below him, held its trainer aloft with its psychic abilities.

"Glory be..." Zephyr breathed.  "He's gotta be nuts."

"Great job, Abra!" Ash ignored his perpetually throbbing head and his fright-pounding heart, feeling the tingle of the Psy Pokémon's abilities suspending him in mid-air.  "Now," he reinforced his commands with a gentle telepathic tandem, "Teleport us to our end of the arena."

Abra was just about to comply, effectively ending the match, when his own Tauros came flying out of nowhere and crushed the tiny yellow imp.  Ash immediately began dropping to the floor, and avoided any broken bones by rolling himself into a ball around the flagpole he still clutched.   Ash took one glance at his Pokémon, horrified to find them both unconscious from the impact.  Turning to look along Tauros' previous trajectory, his horror compounded; Machamp was advancing on him, cracking all twenty of its knuckles with menace gleaming from its eyes.

"Machamp," Zephyr's warning tone came from the box above.  "Just relieve Mr. Ketchum of the flag.  I don' want the lad hurt, y'hear?"

Collecting his scattered thoughts, Ash braced himself.  Plan A hadn't worked, so he would have to resort to Plan B.  Raising his free hand to his mouth, he signaled Charizard with a shrill whistle between his fingers, calling the galoot over in what would hopefully be the nick of time.   As Machamp drew closer, Ash couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut.  Even when being gentle, a Machamp's disarming techniques might just be literal.  He was just preparing himself for a life without arm when he felt Charizard's sharp claws wrap around the limbs in question and jerk him right off of his feet.

"Nice work, buddy." Ash sighed in relief, checking to make sure he still had the flag.  He needn't have bothered; his fingers were wrapped around the flagpost tighter than anything he had ever held before.  "Now, let's skedaddle, huh?"  Charizard roared its reply, swooping lazily for the exit into the central section of the arena, where they would be safe from ranged attacks thanks to Zephyr's own walls.

They had just reached the halfway point, when Charizard came to a screeching halt.  For an airborne dragon, this was a serious development; Ash was sent flying as Charizard slammed into the ground, caught in the grip of Zephyr's Machamp at the ankle.   Ash tucked and rolled, still holding his captured prize as he landed in a skidding heap, stopping only as he struck one of the unforgiving brown walls of steel.

"Gah." Ash groaned, picking himself up.  His own pains were soon forgotten, however, as he saw his Charizard wrestled to the ground and twisted mercilessly by Machamp.  

Pulling the now-useless Psychic Facilitator from his ear, he plunged the device into his pocket and set forth in a dead run for his fallen friend.  He managed to unseat his backpack in mid-sprint, swinging it around on one shoulder as he dug in with his free hand.   As he pulled up to the struggle, he pulled what he had been seeking from the bag; a small, black, octagonal box, about twice the size of his palm.  The chip he desired, courtesy of Solo (which left another question to be answered the next time he saw the mercenary), was already plugged into the HM Accelerator.

"Good thing the rules don't say anything about items either." Ash murmured as he separated the device into its component halves, revealing the myriad of technology within.  "Hold still, big guy, this might sting a little bit."  Hesitating only a moment, he placed the device on either side of Charizard's head, setting them at the temples.   He muttered a quick prayer to the Goddess, then activated the accelerator.

A demonic red light seeped out of the machine, driving information into Charizard's brain at the speed of thought.  Charizard roared in agony as the light poured out of its own eyes, bombarding its mind with data and genetic code the likes of which it had never felt before.   Machamp was startled, but held on to its lock as if its life depended on the fragile hold it had over Charizard.  Unfortunately for Machamp, it hadn't counted on Charizard's very physical structure changing beneath it.  Charizard's muscles began to shift and swell, much as Psi's had before Brock's eyes.   The difference was that here these muscles were real.  The skinny, bony arms that Charizard possessed shifted back as the shoulder joints grew to accommodate the new muscle.  The arms themselves swelled with new tissue, rock-hard and capable of crushing anything in their grasp.   Its potbelly shrank, replaced with a broad, massive chest and abdominal muscles that could be used to grate cheese.

"Woah." Ash murmured.  The sight of his new and improved Charizard stole his breath away.  The lizard, in the meantime, broke Machamp's hold by simply standing up.  With a roar of fury, Charizard swept its claws across the brawny Fighting type, flinging it back into and through the brown stainless steel of the wall behind them.   Ash could only gape at the feat of strength, looking down at the Accelerator as if suddenly realizing the true potential of its hidden power.

"Zwrarw." Charizard snarled, snorting twin jets of flame.  In the distance, it could hear reinforcements coming, and looked down at Ash to see if the teen had comprehended the situation as well.  Ash was already thinking, and came up with a new plan on the fly.

"Charizard," Ash pointed to the wall that featured Machamp's unwilling exit void, "Strength."  Charizard tilted its head at the strange command, until Ash clarified.  "You know...dominoes."

Suddenly understanding, the lizard moved forward and braced itself against the wall.  Charizard began heaving, trying to move the wall from its housing with its new, fantastic strength.  Amazingly, it seemed as though its muscles continued to flex and expand to new limits as the wall began to give way.   With a ferocious screech of rending metal, the technological barrier lost its match with Charizard's brute force, tilting dangerously and speeding along with another hearty push from Ash's Fire type.  It slammed into the wall behind it, knocking that wall from its base as well with another deafening scream of steel on steel.   Soon half of the gym was demolishing itself as the walls came tumbling down, rippling with the classic pattern of everyone's favorite childhood pastime.

When the dust settled, Ash couldn't spy hide nor hair of their pursuing Pokémon.  He exchanged a thumbs-up with Charizard, then together they made their way to their own side of the arena.  As they entered through their own, still intact, walls, Ash caught sight of Zephyr's Pokémon, and prepared himself to counter-attack.   His fears were alleviated when he saw that they were lying in a heap, with Pikachu and the others sitting calmly atop the pile.  He flashed them a wink, then proudly strode over to his box, flag in hand, and ascended back up to the top.  The red flag of his foe was held aloft for all to see, waved triumphantly and joyfully by a young man far too clever for his years.

*THE BATTLE IS OVER!* Wind's voice sang out over the airwaves and echoed through the arena.  *THE CHALLENGER, ASH KETCHUM, IS THE WINNER!*
* * *

Ash strode out of the gym with Zephyr once more.  This time, he wore the Galebadge pinned proudly on his collar, a smile on his face, and a Pikachu that could walk on its own.  Wind was further back, peeking around the two to see if there were any police prepared to arrest the lot of them for pirating the signal.   Instead of police, the roar of a fanatical crowd greeted the combatants.  Ash was shocked to see that his fans had returned, done up as they had been before in their dress-up clothes that mimicked his own.  Another podium had already been set up, and the young trainer was filled with misery at the sight of none other than Alistair McAlistair, representative of Silph Co. and purveyor of misery.   He stood next to the microphones with a look of utter disgust pasted onto his bland features beneath those ridiculous rectangular spectacles.

McAlistair strode forward purposefully, his index finger already ready for pointing and shaking.  "Mr. Ketchum, what you have done is absolutely unacceptable."  His pale face flushed red with anger as he loomed over the troubled teen.  "You have misused the Silph name, you have caused significant damage to a Silph gym, and-" He halted in his tracks as his cell phone began buzzing from within his jacket.   Instincts took over as he snapped the phone open, glaring at Ash.  "Don't go anywhere."

Ash held up his hands, refusing to surrender his smile.  Pikachu, however, continued to glare and spark at the maladjusted accountant.

"Hello?" McAlistair snapped into the phone.  There were several minutes of tense silence before he spoke again.  "WHAT?"  Another few moments.  "What?" he said again, this time more softly.  "Oh...I see...Yes sir, but-" he winced, pulling the phone away from his ear before tentatively returning it.   "Yes sir.  Yes sir.  Yes sir.  I understand.  Goodbye."

Ash, Zephyr and Wind stared in with curiosity as McAlistair took the podium, forcing a smile onto his pencil-thin lips.  With a sweep of his hand across the field of fans, he exclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you have enjoyed tonight's match, brought to you by your friends at the Silph Corporation.   In addition, we are proud to announce that, after renegotiating contract terms, we are ready to welcome Mr. Ketchum back into our fold as Silph's chief representative."  A roar of approval came from the crowd, followed by several pictures snapped by a pocket of paparazzi standing in the corner.   "And now, Mr. Ketchum would like to say a few words..."

Ash stepped forward filled with a sudden unease.  McAlistair stepped down as he approached the podium and dragged Ash aside with a hand on the boy's shoulder.  "Listen well, boy." He hissed, "You may have someone up there who likes you, but this is not over!"
Ash brushed him aside, stepping up to the microphones.  He regarded them as if they were a basket of poisonous snakes before clearing his throat to speak.  "Today..." His words were low and even, hiding the fact that he didn't know what he was saying.   "I consider myself...to be the luckiest trainer...on the face of the Earth..."

He sighed, continuing.  "Earlier today, I said some things that...well, that weren't true.  And I said some things that were true..." Steeling his nerves, he continued, "My fans aren't the reason I took to training...and if any of you ever want to be a world class trainer, like I'm trying to be, then fame and fortune aren't reasons for getting there.   At most..." he glanced back at McAlistair, who still glowered with no less hatred than before, "They are fringe benefits.  And yet, the faith that you show in me...well, it's more than I could ever have in myself.  It gives me reason to hope...I guess.   And so...uh...thank you."

There was electricity in the air as a hush fell over the crowd.  Suddenly, one fan, the chunky one Ash had spoken harshly to, raised his hands to the air and began pounding them together.  Soon, another joined him, and another, until the entire sea of human beings was cheering Ash's name.   He nodded, satisfied that he no longer had a crowd full of people who might want him dead, and stepped down and away.  Pikachu bounded to his side and leapt up onto his shoulder, taking its rightful place as they passed by McAlistair.

"Despite my best efforts," McAlistair told the duo, "You've been reinstated onto the Silph payroll at four times your regular salary."

"I want a jet."

"You WHA?"

Ash snickered as the suit lost his head, throwing such a fit that his spectacles were thrown from his face and left forgotten on the ground.  "Gotcha.  Oh, and make sure Zephyr has enough to retrofit his gym, will you?  We sort of tore it apart with that titanic match you wanted so badly." He winked, giving McAlistair a slap on the back before departing from the scene, making his way through the throng of fans and offering handshakes and kind words to those that didn't mob him.

McAlistair fumed, clenching his fists and wishing with all his might that the boy would be struck dead by some miracle of God.  His phone put a stop to that, ringing once more.  He snapped it open and nearly put his finger through the button as he accepted the signal.   "Yes?" he hissed angrily, until he realized who it was.  "Oh.  Yes, I told him.  Yes, Professor Oak.  I see."  He swallowed his pride even further, with tears welling up in his beady little eyes.  "And let me just say that it's a pleasure to welcome Silph's newest majority stockholder to the fold, and wish you-" The signal cut out, flooding the phone with a loud dial tone.   He replaced the phone in his jacket, and started forward.  A loud snap beneath his foot caught his attention, and with a pathetic whimper, Alistair McAlistair picked up what remained of his glasses and placed them neatly in a folded handkerchief, all the while wondering if he would even have a job return to tomorrow.
* * *

Misty fiddled with the delicate wiring leading away from Ash's Pokédex, examining the connections carefully between Dexter and the silent Pokégear.  The two devices sat atop the hotel room's table, hooked together with as much spare wiring and cable as Misty could scrounge up.   If everything went according to plan, then Dexter would soon be gracing them with his obnoxious old personality rather than his obnoxious damaged personality.

"Let's see..." She looked at the confusing diagram folded out from the Pokédex owner's manual, checking and double-checking the haphazard array of linkages.  "I think that ought to do it."  Turing back to the table, she tapped a button on Gear, bringing the feminine wrist communicator on-line.   "Are you all set, Gear?"

"I am prepared," Gear informed her in its cool, soft voice.  "However, I feel I should advise you that my systems are not designed for this level of interface with the Pokémon Database.  The procedure you have requested is currently untested, and I cannot be certain of the potential repercussions from such a-"

"Don't worry so much!" Misty assured Gear.  Despite her own words, she took several steps back, just in case Dexter exploded.  She still wasn't sure about the last few connections, considering that she had stripped down her Game Boy for the spare wiring.   "Okay, let's-"

The door burst inward suddenly, and a dark brown shape darted in, slamming the door shut behind it with as much noise as its entry had caused.  Misty shrieked in terror, falling onto her rump and crabwalking backwards to evade the threat.

"Misty!" Brock, clad only in his boxers and an expression of pure panic, "It's me!  It's Brock!"

Misty shrieked again, grabbing the nearest object and hurling it at the brawny man.  Luckily for Brock, the nearest potential projectile just happened to be a pillow, and it merely knocked him down onto his butt as it smothered his face.  "I know it's you, you idiot!" She wailed, "What in blazes are you doing showing up to my room naked?!"

He ripped the pillow from his face, tossing it aside.  "First off, I'm wearing these." He pointed to his pink Pokéball boxers in indignation, "And second, I'm here to save your life!"
Misty, who was still wearing her own pajamas, buried her reddened face in her hands.  "The only life that needs saving is yours!  Now put some pants on so I can kick your butt!"

"Misty, look at me!"  Brock crawled forward on his hands and knees, prying Misty's hand from her face and tilting her head so he could look directly into her eyes.  "Misty, it's me, Brock.  I mean, it's me, the 'real' Brock.  That other Brock, he's the fake, not me-"

"Brock-"

"Look, I can prove it." Brock insisted, standing on his knees.  "Remember the time we all went to the Master's Ball?  You wore a bright red dress, and you...Well, you're still in love with-"

"Brock!"

"Wait," he murmured to himself, still in a panic, "Anyone could have found that one out."  He looked at her again with renewed purpose.  "Okay, how about this; you remember that time, about three years back, when we were all on that camp-out in Viridian Forest?   I wandered down to the river early in the morning, but I didn't know you were taking a bath.  You have that little Staryu birthmark on your-"

"BROCK!" She leapt forward, clamping a hand over his mouth before he could utter another horrible word.  Her face was absolutely beet red, and her eyes blazed in silent fury.  They stayed locked like that for a moment, before she looked him square in the eye.   "I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth now.  Okay?"  He nodded, but she cut him off, "And when I do, I'll give you thirty seconds to convince me not to string you up by your earlobes.  Okay?"

Brock leaned back as Misty released his mouth, wiping it clean of the panic sweat she had covered it in.  "Wait a minute..." he seemed profoundly confused, as if the world had not come to a crashing halt in his absence.  "You mean, there hasn't been another me running around here?"

"Why on earth would we want more than one of you?"  Misty stood, straightening her pajama top with a 'hmmf.'  "We can't deal with the one we have.  Now what on earth are you babbling about?"

"Um...Nothing." He replied lamely, scratching his chin thoughtfully.  Though relieved, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Master Psi.  Why hadn't he made good on his plans of murder and terror...?
* * *

Psi hung limply against his bonds, tied to a chair much as his own quarry had been not too long ago.  He sat in a shaft of light, the only light to exist in whatever place his tormentors had brought him to.  There were no clues readily evident in the total darkness that surrounded the small circle visible from his limited perspective, but location was the least of his concerns.   Foremost on his mind were the two ruffians beating the tar out of him.  

Aside from their matching black suits, they were as opposite as day and night.  One of them was of rather average height, with dark ebony skin and a black goatee covering the lower half of his face.  His suit hung loosely over his thin frame, but Psi's experienced eye could detect a small piece beneath the telltale bulge below his right breast, tucked safely within the folds of the suit jacket.   His eyes were hidden beneath a pair of blackened shades, which was ironic considering how dark the space they occupied was now.  

That one did little for the interrogation, though.  He seemed all to happy to let his partner, a tall, strapping Aryan with spiky blond hair and piercing blue eyes that burned every time he struck Psi's masked face with hardened brass knuckles and broken planks of wood.

"So, Mr. Stone..." The black man pulled out a handkerchief, wiping away the sweat that had seeped through the mask's breathing pores.  "Are you ready to tell us where Ms. Mason has hidden the experimental Technique Machines?"

Psi growled, cursing his own infallibility.  The mask he had designed was far too durable to break even under these, the worst of circumstances.  Of course, it didn't do anything to dull the pain of any one of the impacts, but no matter how bruised and swollen he became beneath it, the mask would only reveal the bright and chipper face of a twenty-year old dynamo in his prime.   And that was only going to make his tormentors hit him harder and harder...and harder.

"For the last time," he groaned, raising his voice in defiance, "I'm not Brock!  My name is Psi, and I work for Team R-augh!"  Spike hit him across the jaw, shutting him up with a vicious crack of bone on bone.

"I suggest you talk, you piece of human waste." Spike snarled, and was about to hit him again, when Shades stopped him with a single gesture.  
Shades approached the prisoner, leaning down and speaking softly, as if they were having casual morning mocha.  "Mr. Stone, I assure you, we have no real interest in hurting either you, or your friends."

"Speak for yourself." Spike added in a low growl.

Shades ignored him, turning back to Psi.  "Now, where are Professor Mason's TMs?"
Psi scowled, which hurt more than it had any right to.  "My.  Name.  Is.  PSI!" he screamed, rocking back and forth in his chair.  "Just UNTIE ME, and I'll SHOW YOU!"

His interrogator sighed, removing his glasses and polishing the spittle from their lenses.  "Mr. Spike, I believe you know what to do..." Spike advanced on the bound and tied assassin, grinning from ear to ear.

Psi groaned, steeling his old, brittle bones against another onslaught.  As he caught his own, flawless false reflection in Spike's brass knuckles, he took small solace in the knowledge that in six hours, when his mask's power supply finally ran down, these two were going to feel very foolish.
* * *

"Hey," Brock exclaimed, spotting the rig sitting atop Misty's table.  He went over to investigate, turning Dexter over carefully so as not to disturb the wires poking out of the machine's casing.

Misty rushed over, snatching the device and replacing it on the table.  "Don't touch that!" she cried, shooing him away from the set-up.  "I'm trying to repair Dexter."

Brock examined the scene, looking over Dex's newfound attachment to the Pokégear.  Finally, he turned back to Misty.  "Are you doing some kind of Frankenstein transplant, or what?"

"No."  Misty strode over, tapping a few of Gear's buttons to activate the sequence she and the tiny watch had spent an hour setting up.  The 'gear hummed to life, glowing brightly from its minuscule screen as tiny rivulets of electricity began exchanging between the two machines.   "I was reading up on Dexter's repair functions.  It turns out that he has an auto-repair system made up of thousands of tiny nanites-"

"Nanites?"

"Tiny robots." She explained, pointing to a diagram in the thick text.  Brock turned the picture upside down and backwards, but all he saw was a silhouette of a tiny bug.  "Anyway," she continued, "The trick was finding a machine that could interface with Dexter's damaged processors and get the procedure started.   Since it was supposed to happen automatically, I guessed that its command processor was cut off from the rest of the machine-"

"Okay, okay!" Brock halted her, handing the dry, boring book back to her.  "I believe you.  You're a genius.  Just stop, okay?  You're making my head hurt." He rubbed his aching cranium as proof.

"Actually, Gear's the real genius." Misty gazed at Ash's technological marvel in admiration.  "She came up with the technical stuff I would need to attach them, and-" A tiny rattle halted her in mid-explanation.  They held their breath as the Pokédex began to shift and shake softly, clicking against the table as it danced in place.   All of a sudden, its shaking stopped, prompting Misty and Brock to move even closer.  It was a slow change at first, but soon, it was evident that the tiny, hairline cracks in Dexter's casing were sealing themselves up, leaving only pristine red casing behind.

"Woah." Brock rubbed his squinted eyes in disbelief.  "If I didn't see it myself, I never would'a believed."

"Score one for the Aqua Girl!" Misty leapt upward in triumph.  The small sliver of guilt she had carried with her those past few weeks after their encounter with Lawrence vanished, replaced with a self-satisfaction that rivaled Ash's own perpetually growing ego.   She plopped down onto her bed's edge with a sigh, placing her hands on her knees.  "Nice job, Gear."  There was no answer.  "Gear?"

"She shut off."  Brock gently unhooked Gear from the conglomeration of scavenged wires, holding up the silent device for Misty to see.  "The process must have wiped her out.  We'll just have to reboot her in a little bit."

The door flew open once again, and Misty jumped as she had before as Ash strode into the room with a grin to match Misty's.  "Hey guys!" he waved a greeting, leaning up against the wall.  With only a smidgen of curiosity and quite a bit of amusement, he quipped, "Nice boxers, Brock."

"Thanks.  Say, is that a new badge I see on your collar?"

"Don't look too hard, or it might break." Ash joshed him, tossing the badge over for Brock to see.

Brock examined the tiny pin.  "Hmm.  Pretty."

"Waitaminute!" Misty blurted as Brock tossed the pin back to its owner.  She frowned, utterly confused by the situation.  "Dixie told me you lost your match with the gym here!"  Her confusion changed into horror.  "You didn't just beat him up and take the badge, did you?"

Though her face didn't betray her, Ash could see the twinkle of amusement in her eyes.  "I did lose..." Ash admitted, sneering at her mocking gesture with good humor, "But the rematch was all me."

"Well, la dee dah for you." She smarted, picking up his Pokédex and tossing it to him.  He fumbled to catch it, glancing at the now-clear screen once he had it under his control.  "While you and Pikachu were out playing, I was doing something useful.   Your Pokédex will be as good as new in..." she consulted the manual quickly, "Three to five hours, or your money back."

"That's fantastic!"  Ash set Dexter aside, then wrapped Misty in a surprising hug that caught her off guard and swept her off her feet.  "Thanks a lot, Misty!"

Misty blushed, but for different reasons than when Brock entered the room.  "Um...hey, no sweat."  She enjoyed the embrace for a moment, feeling Ash's strong arms wrapped around her.  Feelings that she tried desperately to push away swept over her in a forceful storm, sending her head spinning.   Finally, to save face, she pushed Ash off.  "All right, that's enough!" she managed to gasp.  "We don't want to give your girlfriend the wrong idea."

"Say, that's right."  Ash checked his wrist, but then realized that Gear wasn't strapped on.  Spying the device on the table, he again tried to check it, but the stubborn 'gear refused to activate.  Grunting with frustration, he checked the clock on the wall and smiled.   "I'm even early for picking Dixie up, too.  Where is she?"

"She's in the bathroom," Misty chucked her thumb in the direction of the room's lavatory, whose door was closed at the moment, but with a small sliver of light coming from underneath it.  "I'll tell her to hurry along.  You go wait in the lobby."

"Sure thing."  He cast a look at his repairing Pokédex, then reached out and grasped Misty's hand in one last squeeze.  "Thanks again, Misty."

She felt her heart melting, and shooed him along.  "Just go.  Go!" Misty admonished just in time.  No sooner had Ash left the room when the bathroom door creaked open, revealing the date-bound Dixie dressed to kill...

"Hey guys!  Nice boxers, Brock." Dixie greeted them, tugging on the sleeve of her ill-fitting sweatshirt.  Her sweatpants hung limply from her gorgeous frame, obscuring the natural curve of her body that had caught the eye of more than one boy since hitting puberty.   She spun once in place, winking at Brock and casting an expecting gaze at Misty.  "How do I look?  I did just what you suggested."

Misty could practically feel the waves of confusion and moral outrage that were pouring off of Brock right now.  She didn't dare look over at him, though she knew he was alternating between staring openly and horrified at Dixie's atrocious appearance and glaring her way.   "You look perfect!" Misty clapped, grinning both inside and out.  Then she frowned, inspecting closer.  "Hold on a sec...Is that make-up I spy there?"

"Just a little..." Dixie admitted.  "I know you said I shouldn't wear any, but...well..."  Misty tapped her foot impatiently, folding her arms with a disappointed expression on her face.

Brock stepped forward, pushing Dixie into the bathroom.  "Say, why don't you go ahead and make some final adjustments?  I have something I need to talk to Misty about."

"But I-"

"In you go!" Brock shoved her into the bathroom and slammed the door closed, leaning against it.  He turned his attention to Misty, who stood there, trying to look as innocent as possible.  It was a look that had served her well whenever she had tried to pull a fast one on either of her friends in the past, but Brock refused to let it work this time.   "Just WHAT do you think you're DOING?" he hissed, his teeth gnashing furiously.

"What?"  Misty demanded weakly.  He continued to glare at her, forcing another, more indignant "What?!" out of her.  

"Just giving Dixie a little advice before her big date with Ash?" Brock demanded.

Misty forced a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.  "Oh, the outfit...and make-up...and mannerisms..."

"Mannerisms?  What mannerisms?"

Whoops.  "Uh, who said anything about-"

"What did you tell her?"

"I..." Misty desperately tried to avoid Brock's piercing gaze, but it seemed to be everywhere at once.  "I...may have told her to act like a cold, heartless witch, and ignore every single overture Ash made towards her because it would drive him mad with passion..."

"You WHAT?" he cried, moving forward to grab her by the shoulders.  "What else did you do?"  Misty mumbled something that he didn't catch.  "What was that?"

"Maybe I told her to eat like Ash does..." she admitted.

He sighed, letting go of her and dropping to sit on the bed.  His hands massaged his temples, attempting to force away the agony that Misty was forcing upon him.  "Misty, how could you?"

"Oh, come on!" Misty insisted, trying to make Brock see the humor in it all.  "It's just a little joke.  Besides," she scoffed, "She's the one who's stupid enough to listen to everything I told her."

"Really..." Brock's eyebrow cocked in disbelief.  "And would you care to hear my take on the subject?"  Before she could reply, he pressed ahead, "I see a terrible, horrible, awful little girl who jealously decided to ruin something wonderful here by abusing a trust that her friend has in her."

"Jealous!  Me?" Misty laughed.  She didn't believe her own laughter, though, and she could clearly see that Brock wasn't buying it.  "I just..." She tried to comprehend what she had done, and reviewed her little advisory session with Dixie.   This time she had Brock's scathing words circling inside of her mind as the images of a horrid little redheaded wretch manipulated her trusting, younger, very naďve friend.  "It's not...I didn't..." Finally, she sagged forward.  Bitter tears began welling up in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks though her lips remained silent.  

Brock was seriously concerned now.  "Hey..." he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her down to sit next to him.  "Hey, ease up.  I didn't mean to be so hard on you-"

"You were right." Misty admitted between her stifled tears.  "Right about everything."  She looked over at Brock, her resolve and inner defenses crumbling in the arms of one of her oldest, dearest friends.  "Brock, what did I do?  What kind of friend...what kind of monster-"

He shushed her, rocking her gently back and forth.  "Hey, it's okay." He whispered quietly.  "It's all right.  I know..."  He pulled her back a bit to look right into her glimmering blue eyes.  The tears hadn't stopped yet.  In fact, he was afraid that she would start bawling any second now, and he wasn't sure how long Dixie would stay in the bathroom.   "Look, Misty," he explained, "I'm really sorry.  I know how you really feel about Ash...even if you didn't."  Steeling himself for the crushing blow, he continued, "But you have to realize, it's just too late.  Ash and Dixie, they...they're trying to start something special."

She sniffed, leaning against his shoulder.  "I guess."

"And if you really care about Ash," he wiped away her tears with his thumb, "Then you'll be happy if he finds someone special...Even if that someone isn't you.  Because you know that Ash cares just as much about you, even if it isn't like that."

"Yeah." Misty admitted, wiping the rest of her tears away herself with the back of her hand.  She plastered a smile back onto her lips, and Brock couldn't ever recall seeing a less sincere smile since the Miss Poké-Teen competition.  "I guess I have to do the adult thing, don't I?"

"Yup."

"Man, growing up really sucks." She managed a little giggle, and this time, her smile was real.

He laughed along with her.  "I haven't found anything to suggest otherwise, kiddo."  Just then, the door opened, revealing a now plainfaced Dixie peeking carefully out the small crack.  

"Is it okay for me to come out now?" she asked cautiously.  Spying Misty's reddened, swollen-eyed face, she threw the door open the rest of the way.  "Misty, are you okay?"

"I can see you girls have some stuff to talk about." Brock stood, rubbing his bare arms.  "I think I'm going to go find my pants.  I'll see you both down in the lobby in a little bit."  With that, he left the room and made his way down the hall, greeting several guests who gave the boxer-clad youth a wide bearth.

Misty stood up, sniffing away the last of her sadness.  With calm determination set into her features, she approached Dixie and ordered, "Take off your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

"Look," Misty insisted, going over to her own backpack, "The outfit you picked out would look killer on you, but it probably wouldn't be appropriate for a nice dinner and a movie." She pulled out a small, folded bundle that she always kept carefully among her belongings, pulling out a sheaf of blazon yellow fabric.   Tiny sunflowers dotted the material, giving it the appearance of a field of flowers viewed from high above.  "We're about the same size, so this summer dress should fit you just right."

"But you said-"

"Now," Misty ignored her, pulling the sweatshirt up and over the girl's goldenrod hair and tossing the disgusting article aside, "Ash will eat, act, and comport himself like a gentleman the entire time, so try not to act surprised when he doesn't bury his head in his food.   He'll try to sound suave, and he'll actually pull it off half the time, so make sure to keep him talking, but make sure you both keep it casual.  It'll be a lot more fun that way."

"But-"

Pulling out her own meager make-up kit out of the bag, she began brushing blush gently onto Dixie's cheeks.  "I'll get the make-up started, but you know your face better than I do, so you'll have to finish it.  Not too much, because you're already a knock-out."

"Thanks-"

"Now..." Misty paused, feeling a sick, sinking feeling striking her stomach.  This was going to hurt, no two ways about it.  "Sometime during the movie, Ash is going to pull the old yawning trick." She mimicked the maneuver, yawning loudly and slipping her arm around Dixie's shoulder.   "Just pretend that it's actually clever, no matter how much it isn't.  When he kisses you, make sure to look right into those big brown eyes of his and whisper something sweet."

"Misty..." Dixie pulled back, leaving Misty's blush brush hanging limply in mid-stroke.  "What about all that other stuff you were telling me earlier."  Her green eyes wavered as they pleaded with Misty for some semblance of sense.  "What's going on?"

Sighing, Misty forced the sundress into Dixie's hands and began pushing her towards the bathroom once more.  "If I ever stop feeling like pond scum, I'll tell you."

"But-"

"GO!"

Misty shoved her in and shut the door.  Then, she let her head come to rest on the doorframe, allowing herself to sink to the floor.  She wasn't sure what she felt worse about: that Brock was actually right about her own feelings, or that she had abused a sacred trust with someone whom was supposed to be her friend.
"Man," she swore softly, "This has to be, like, the worst day ever."
* * *

"This has got to be the absolute best day ever!" Ash exclaimed to his best friends, Brock and Pikachu, as he leaned back in one of the hotel's lounging lobby chairs.

"I can't believe that Silph guy actually gave you back the funding." Brock shook his head, scooping up Pikachu before the power-packed Pokémon could attack a dust bunny underneath the seat.  Trying to control the wriggling, rowdy mouse proved to be too much for him, so he released Pikachu into its trainer's capable hands.   "I mean, that corporate sleaze absolutely hated slackers like us."

"I know." Ash agreed, scratching Pikachu in its favorite spot behind the ears.  "It doesn't make any sense."

"Few things that happen to us do." Brock laughed, leaning against the chair.  "Maybe our good karma's finally catching up to us."  He spotted Dixie and Misty, who had changed out of her pajamas for the first time today, coming down the stairs to meet them.   He tapped Ash on the shoulder and somehow managed to repress a whistle at the mere sight of Dixie.

"Who knows." Ash stood up, looking in the crowd for his dream dinner date.  "Maybe we all died and went to-"

When he caught sight of Dixie, he couldn't help but drop Pikachu in sheer surprise.  As the Pokémon fell to the floor with a protesting squeak, Ash's gaze traveled in the opposite direction.  He started from her summer sandals, then let his hungry eyes wander further up her slim, slender legs, right past the hem of her yellow sunflower dress that billowed out below the waist, but accented her natural beauty just about everywhere else.   Her sunburst pendant, which they had never seen her without, accented the ensemble quite nicely.  Dixie had let her hair hang loosely by her shoulders, framing a face that only an angel should have.

"Heaven." Ash finished with a whisper.  Through it all, he never noticed Misty's disappointed pout.  As a matter of fact, he didn't notice her at all until she cleared her throat loudly, signaling him back to the real world.  "Oh.  Hi." He replied lamely, suddenly feeling underdressed in his usual jeans and black rumpled T-shirt.   Dixie didn't seem to mind, however.  She merely giggled, enthralled at the attention her outfit received from both of the boys.  "I...uh..." After a few moments of babbling, he managed to compose himself just enough to offer his elbow to the exquisite young lady.   "Shall we?"

"I would be delighted." She replied, taking the arm.  This time the electricity that she had felt at his touch earlier charged through them both.  They gave their friends one last wave as he led her out the door.  "Don't wait up!" Dixie called out just as they disappeared through the revolving doors.

"We won't!" Misty called back, her voice dripping with forced sugar.  Once she was certain that the two were out of hearing, she added, "You ridiculously in-love stupid-heads."  Pikachu nudged her leg, wanting to be picked up by its second-favorite person (favorite, if she happened to be holding a Pika-snack), and she was obliged to comply.   She shot a vicious glare over at Brock, who stood there studying her miserable demeanor.  "There.  I did the right thing.  Happy?"

"No." he replied, watching as the couple disappeared from the window's view.  "I'm going to be hearing about it for the next six months.  But them?" He smiled.  "They're happy.  And pretty soon, you will be too."

"Doubt that." She scoffed, rubbing Pikachu in the same spot Ash always did.  She felt better as the tiny Pokémon rumbled in response.  At least one of the men in her life liked her, even if it did belong to a different species entirely.  "So, how about we get some pizza delivered for dinner?"   She held up Gear, who was strapped to her wrist.  "I say we use Ash's money.  It only seems fair that he takes all of us out for dinner tonight, huh?"

Brock offered her a token grin.  "Sounds all right to me." He affirmed, already making a mental note to pay Ash back for the pizza.  He watched as Misty reactivated the stubborn device, which hadn't worked since Dexter's reactivation.  Even now, it seemed to be sluggish in its re-boot, taking far longer than it had to awaken even when Ash had first received it from Professor Oak.   "Is something wrong?  Gear doesn't seem-"

That's when Gear started screaming.
* * *

James awoke with a pounding headache and a foreboding sense that he and his companions had messed up once again.  Feeling the tight bands of rope wrapped around his wrist only confirmed his suspicions.  He groaned, standing up with his arms bound behind his back.  

"Good," Jessie's voice echoed through his pain-torn mind, "You're awake."  He saw her and Meowth sitting across from where he stood, with the camping equipment that had proven to be their downfall sitting between the three.  The shredded remains of their own ropes rested to one side, probably cut away by Meowth's razor claws.   "It's about time, too."

"Wha hoppen?" he asked thickly, offering his own bindings to Meowth.

The feline sliced easily through the ropes, tossing them aside in disgust.  "We was bamboozled, dat's what happened!" he groused.  

James tested the air with his nose, suddenly detecting an appealing aroma.  "Say now, what's that heavenly smell?"  He peered down at the simmering kettle sitting atop the camping stove and felt his hopes rising.  Even if Master Psi would be furious with them allowing their loose end to escape, at least they could enjoy whatever it was slowly cooking in the pot.   "Did that little twerp actually make something for us?"

"Oh, he made something for us, all right." Jessie confirmed with arms folded and eyes closed.  She leaned with her back against a box, stewing over this latest humiliating failure, and nursing her own headache.  "We saved some just for you, too."

James squealed, and yanked off the lid of the pot without even considering its scalding temperature.  Ignoring the searing pain assaulting his hand, he tossed the lid aside and peered down into the blackened, charred pot.

"Is that a blackjack?"

End

-Quiet Hindsight-
As I said above in a whimsical fashion, there's a lot happening in this story.  As the series progresses, I'll regret not being able to put random stories (that is, stories that have little to do with the progressive plot), but we can still throw in quite a bit of fun, as well as the action and adventure I hope you've come to expect.   Until next time, fellow trainers!

Next: BadgeQuest: The America Chronicles #6
Take A Moment, Catch Your Breath