One week had passed since the day Valtor had pulled out of his dreary home life and into the under-the-radar vigilante life Kenta had offered him. On the morning of January 8, he awoke as usual in the vacant library of Earl’s Pokémon Academy, and after going through his morning routine, he shot a glance at the calendar on the wall that Kenta had bought. The first row of days were all crossed out with x’s, as was the Sunday of January 7th just below. In each of the squares were the words “rally trainers,” in Kenta’s handwriting. However, in the box of Monday, January 8, the words “get out of town” were scribbled down. Valtor had been meaning to ask Kenta what it meant for a while, or whether he’d even read it correctly. Unfortunately, the matter kept slipping his mind as he worried about each new day that came.

From behind him, Valtor heard Kenta strolling into the room, accompanied by the muffled and scratchy voice of someone talking over a broadcast station. He turned and looked, and sure enough, Kenta was holding a portable, battery-operated radio by the handle while brushing his teeth. He was wearing his army uniform; something Valtor hadn’t seen him in since they’d been to Azalea Town to rescue Kurt. “Good news, Valtor!” Kenta said cheerily, holding up the radio. “They’re calling for clear skies today, and no snow. This’ll be nice for what we’re going to do.”

“Why, what are we going to do?” questioned Valtor, as a commercial for a chest pain reliever started up. Kenta took the toothbrush out of his mouth, ran to spit, and returned wiping his mouth. “Well, I figure after all this frantic running around we’ve been doing, we deserve some time off in a warmer climate,” he answered, pulling out his officer’s hat from his pocket. Valtor stared at him skeptically. “So . . . what, are we going to the beach or something?” he asked slowly. Kenta gave a short laugh. “Close,” he replied. “Try a little less ocean and a little more sand.”

Before Valtor could get any further in his guessing, the PKTV “special news bulletin” music began playing on the radio. He and Kenta both turned to the small electronic device, and Kenta raised the volume on the speakers. “-just in, a small party of men were seen earlier today by several civilians of Mahogany Town, dressed in what was believed to be Team Rocket clothing. While it is unconfirmed whether or not they have done anything suspicious up until now, the witnesses all report seeing the red ‘R’ logo on the mens’ shirts. The police are presently searching the area for these supposed neo-Rockets, but so far-”

Kenta slapped a hand to his forehead and gave a loud groan, his good humor instantly gone. “Damn it!” he whined angrily, covering his eyes. “What are those idiots doing? They should know better than to parade themselves around like jackasses. WHY would they wear the uniforms in public?”

Valtor shrugged. “Maybe they’re trying to distract the press from what we’re doing?”

“In other news,” the announcer continued, “a thirteen-year-old boy was arrested today for illegally carrying around pokémon against the new policies set down by G.R.I.P.. The boy possessed a Stantler and a Drowzee that he’d captured using two Great Balls, but did not resist arrest when Goldenrod’s Officer Jenny came to confiscate the pokémon. When asked why he’d broken the law, he reportedly said, quote: ‘Brendan Birch told me to do it.’ His is a similar response to those given by the three underage trainers arrested last week for the same crime. At a conference in the Indigo League today, Champion Birch himself addressed the issue personally.”

“Oh, fudge,” Valtor heard Kenta mutter softly, shamefully. “I never meant for this to happen. The last thing I want to do is get the real Brendan in trouble.”

“I deny ever telling any school-age trainers to break any laws of our country,” came Brendan’s apologetic and somewhat resentful voice over the radio. “Petty rebellions like these do nothing but bring dishonor on pokémon trainers, and the name of Japan.”

A female reporter’s voice resumed speaking on the radio. “Mr. Birch went on to say that he disapproves of what the Government Restrictive Institute on Pokémon has done, but it is not his place or any other trainer’s to antagonize it. He concluded by adding that anyone using his name for the sake of rebellion is a liar.”

There was a moment’s silence, and Valtor could hear Kenta mumbling incoherently to himself in a strangely high-pitched voice. A second later, the radio station’s two reporters were speaking to each other in a much more personable, less serious tone.

“So why do YOU think Champion Birch’s name is coming up so much among the arrested trainers?”

“Well, you know . . . he’s a celebrated idol, potentially the greatest trainer since Lance. I guess they figure if they use his name, nobody will question their actions.”

“Ha, ha! You know what I think? Maybe Birch slips out of his window at night and goes around whispering in sleeping children’s ears to fight the power.”

“Hee, hee, hee, hee . . . sleepwalking, of course.”

Kenta didn’t wait to hear any more. As the commentators continued to laugh, he clicked off the radio, then flopped back onto the floor in spread-eagle posture. Valtor looked at him worriedly, not knowing what to do.

“Kenta? Are you okay?”

His older brother looked slowly at him, as though processing his words. Then he shook his head and heaved a deep sigh. “Ever feel like the world’s against you?” he asked softly, in such a quiet voice that Valtor had to strain his ears to hear. “Bro, if we fail, all my enemies, my prosecutors, will become yours also. Silhouette hates me. Steven hates me. And now my own hero has called me a liar. Everywhere we go, I’m the badguy.”

“Everyone doesn’t hate you,” reasoned Valtor, hoping with mild panic that Kenta wasn’t going into depression. “What have we been doing for the last seven days? You’re giving people their hope back, how could they hate you for that?”

“If we fail, all my enemies will become yours,” Kenta repeated, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the ceiling. “All those fan club people we’ve been visiting, they cling to me only because I must sound like I know what I’m doing. But just watch how fast they’ll turn on us, if everyone ends up in prison. When times turn as bad as they can get, you find out who your friends are.” Kenta looked up, and he and Valtor locked eyes. “I have you and Bolt, and the Kuchinawa family. You are the ones I trust.”

Valtor looked away from him, feeling proud, and yet hurt at the same time. “Are we truly it?” he asked sadly. “What about Mom and Dad? What about Marina and Juni’chi? What about Bakuphoon?”

“You know I love them all dearly,” said Kenta passionately, sitting straight up. “I’d do anything for them. But they can’t help us now, and I don’t want them to.” He glared at his own tightly-closed fists. “Aren’t they suffering enough? I’d regret it if any of them got involved.”

“Kenta.”

Valtor stared meaningfully at him. “Do you regret getting me involved?”

Kenta looked back at him, and his expression turned sorrowful. “I was selfish,” he uttered, hanging his head. “I needed you. And I need you. If I was stronger, I wouldn’t have taken you, and you would be safe.”

“Well I don’t regret it,” said Valtor in an absolute tone, reaching out and clasping Kenta’s shoulders firmly. He looked resolutely at Kenta until the latter looked up at him. “I said it, didn’t I?” Valtor pressed. “I’m with you to the death, Kenta. To the very end. On that day you went into the police station to rescue Kurt, you told me to act like I didn’t know you, if you got caught. I resented those instructions. I won’t follow them if you ask me to do it again.”

Valtor-!

“So do me a favor!” Valtor stood up from the floor and put out his hand, his face set. “No more regret, Kenta. I’d have gotten involved with you anyway, even knowing what I was getting myself into. I’m here for you, now do your best to be here for me!”

Kenta stared at Valtor’s extended hand in wonder, bowed his head, and let out a shuddering sigh. He laughed weakly. “Wow.” Taking Valtor’s hand, he allowed himself to be lifted to his feet. He gazed into his younger brother’s face; Valtor looked more mature to him than ever before. “You know, kid,” he said, breaking into a full smile, “with a brother like you, any guy could take on the world right now.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” said Valtor, matching Kenta’s grin. “So then, let’s get going to . . . uh . . .” He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Um, where are we going again?”

Kenta faced him with an expression of new determination. “Krane Laboratories,” he replied, pulling his military hat on. “In the Orre Region.”

***

“Grandpa, would you please get that?” asked Curtis, as his tiny household’s phone began to ring from across the tool bench.

“You get it!” answered Kurt, not looking up from his work as he ignited his welding torch. “I’m old . . . and more importantly, I’m busy!”

Curtis sighed and put down the sandpaper he was holding, then removed his gloves and hurried to the phone as it completed its third ring. “Kuchinawa residence, this is Curtis,” he said into the speaker. “Oh! Hi, Kenta.” Straining to hear his associate’s voice better, Curtis held a hand over his ear to drown out the rumble of Kurt’s blowtorch. “Sorry, what? I can’t hear a darn thing you’re saying.”

“I said, how are the Master Ball duplicates coming along?” shouted Kenta from his end of the line, as he and Valtor rose through a sea of clouds on Bolt’s back.

“Oh, those? Yeah, they’re great, we’ve got almost all of ‘em done.” Curtis pressed the phone tighter to his ear. “Kenta, it’s really hard to hear you. All I can make out is the stupid wind blowing all around you.”

“We’re two thousand feet up in the air,” Kenta replied sarcastically. “It’s going to be a little windy.”

“How are you not freezing your asses off?”

“We are. But if Bolt can hold out, so can we.”

“If you say so. Anyway, uh . . . these Master Balls are amazing.” Curtis glanced over at Kurt, who had his blowtorch off and his welding mask up on his forehead. “Did I tell you I caught a Lapras last Friday, during the test? It was in an underground lake in the East Azalea Cave. Captured in one go.”

“Yes, Curtis, you’ve told me every day since then,” sighed Kenta.

“Oh, right. Sorry. But anyway, yeah, these balls are the highest-quality pieces of work we’ve ever made! I wish we could make more.”

“Don’t say that!” Kenta’s rebuke from the other end was loud and sharp, and Curtis heard it painfully clear. “Those balls used to be Magneton! Our ancestors killed animals for their meat and skins, as a survival necessity, but we can live without these Master Balls. Whatever amount you end up with will have to do!”

Kenta listened from his end for Curtis’s reply, but the pokéball-maker was silent. Feeling he might’ve hurt Curtis, Kenta followed up apologetically. “Besides,” he murmured more gently, “I’ll always prefer your Friend Balls. They make pokémon happy.”

“ . . . Thank you.”

“Curtis, I just want you to know that I’m deeply grateful for all the work you’ve been doing,” Kenta added on quickly, still feeling insufficient. “I mean, you’ve been working on those things nonstop for an entire week now, without a nickel of pay, and at constant risk of being taken in by the police. On top of that, you’re also having kids walking into your house from dawn ‘til dusk, demanding all the apricorn balls you’ve ever stashed away. I don’t think I could ever repay-”

“Dude, dude, dude!” interjected Curtis, stopping him. “It’s fine. Really. Do you know how happy Grandpa is?” He smiled. “We’re total heroes, over here. Grandpa feels more important with every trainer that calls ‘release’ through our door. They know, and we know, that what we’re giving them aren’t just some balls- they’re the balls. Through us, people are becoming trainers again. And through us . . .” He spoke closer to the receiver. “Well, you know. ‘The tide will turn.’”

“That’s what today’s field trip is all about,” said Kenta briskly. “Wish us luck.”

“Do you have your Master Ball with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Curtis smiled again. “Then that won’t be necessary.”

As both parties hung up, Valtor tapped Kenta on the shoulder from his seat behind. “Did you tell him what we were doing today?” he asked, holding tightly to his hood. Kenta nodded. “A while back, actually.”

“Before or after your first speech to the fan clubs?” asked Valtor, somewhat skeptically. “You know, that talk where you said ‘the only thing worse than a thief is a thief who says he’s done nothing wrong’?”

“Hey, I know it’s wrong, but it’s the only way to take back what’s ours,” Kenta responded, shrugging his shoulders. “Besides, we’re not stealing anything. We’re borrowing it without permission.”

“G.R.I.P. could use that same excuse about our pokémon, Mr. Sparrow.”

“That’s Captain Sparrow to you. Don’t forget your gloves, now.”

Still, Kenta thought, I’m already getting butterflies in my stomach over this. I’ve been planning it for weeks, but there’s so much that could go wrong. I’m not worried so much that we’ll be beaten, but more over the possibility that we could finally be identified for who we are. Krane’s lab has security cameras everywhere. There’s just overwhelming protection guarding the most valuable thing in Orre.

The Snag Machine.

Up until six years ago, it had been impossible for any trainer to steal another’s pokémon. Loyal as dogs, and dependable as lifelong friends, pokémon had always shared a tendency to follow only the orders of their own masters. If a pokémon was ever taken forcibly from its trainer, the case was constant: it would not yield to its new master. Even if a would-be thief attempted to catch another trainer’s pokémon, it would be in vain; the capture ball would simply bounce uselessly off the pokémon like an acorn. Until the pokémon got the trainer’s consent, it would obey nobody else.

That was before the Snag Machine. A device of sinister genius, invented by a group of desert brigands known as Team Snagem, the Snag Machine’s purpose was to alter normal pokéballs so that they became artificial will-breakers. If a Snag-Machine-modified pokéball were to be thrown at a trained pokémon, it would not only suck the pokémon in by force, but strip the creature of its former loyalty. In a way, the machine stood as a different form of rape. A truly terrible contraption, it went against every definition of nature, disgusting all but the most apathetic of criminals.

And now Kenta needed it.

Ever since his first spy visit to Krane Laboratories back before he’d gotten Valtor, Kenta had held a constant opinion about the location. Rather than a research facility for heart purification technology, the place would’ve done better as a nuclear testing zone. Outside the lab’s two-mile radius of vegetation, there was nothing but desert sand and rocky soil as far as the eye could see. Nobody would be calling in to visit way out here, nor would anyone without an all-terrain vehicle simply be able to come. Kenta couldn’t imagine who in their right mind would consider building any sort of human structure out here, except maybe for mining or archeology expeditions.

Bolt rocketed over Orre’s enormous stretch of sandbeds, hovering less than ten feet off the ground. In the distance, Valtor spotted a greenish-black patch of land and pointed ahead at it. “Look, Kenta! I think I see it.”

“I think you’re right,” answered Kenta, over the blowing of the wind. “We’ll touch down once we’re in a thick enough patch of trees. We can’t have those guys seeing Bolt . . . yet.” He turned around from where he was sitting behind Bolt’s neck and looked Valtor seriously in the face. “Now, do you remember the plan? Or would you like to act it out first, before we go in for real?”

Valtor shook his head. “No, that’s okay. I remember pretty well. Acting it out now would dull the second performance.”

Kenta grinned and ruffled his hair. “Don’t lose that self-confidence, now. We’re gonna need it very soon.”

***

In the middle of the Orre desert stood the few acres of forest where Kenta and Valtor landed. In the middle of the forest acres stood Krane Laboratories itself, surrounded by dirt paths leading up to the doors. In the middle of Krane Laboratories sat the first-floor reception room, and in the middle of that, the receptionist’s desk. When Kenta and Valtor entered through the sliding panel door leading to the center of centers, it was as if they’d walked into the center of attention. Three guards eyed the brothers suspiciously as they strode towards the woman behind the desk, and she herself eyed them with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes? Can I help you with something?”

Valtor pulled his traveler’s cloak tightly around him, so that he’d have as little of himself showing as possible. Kenta pointed at him, putting on a stern, yet sympathetic face. “Please, could we get a cup of water for this kid?” he asked emotionally. “I was on my way over here when I found him wandering around in the middle of the sand dunes. The lad seems to have gotten separated from his caravan, passing through here.”

“Oh!” Like magic, the receptionist’s defenses vanished. “Yes, yes, just wait here dear boy, and I’ll be right back!”

She hurried out of her seat and walked smartly towards the double-doors in the back left corner of the room. They opened before she got there, and two people walked out, apparently in the middle of conversation with each other. The first was a middle-aged man in a white lab coat, with untidy brown hair and a pleasant smile on his face. The other was a boy of about twelve years in age, wearing a gentlemanly suit and tie. It clashed terribly with flamboyant hairstyle, which was a mane of long red hair that clashed between spikes and dreadlocks.

The two parties looked at each other for a moment in mild surprise, then the receptionist stepped hastily to the side. “Oh dear, pardon me, Professor-!”

“Not at all, Kaoru, go right ahead . . .”

“That’s him,” muttered Kenta in undertone, so that only Valtor would hear. “Professor Krane himself. And it looks like his office is still unlocked during business hours.”

That’s odd . . . I was expecting more resistance than that. I know for a fact that he stored the Snag Machine in there the other day, before closing up.

Kenta had only seen the Snag Machine one other time from when he’d spied Krane carrying it into his office. It had been a couple years back, during an Internet search he’d done on criminal-made tools and technology. A file photo titled “snag machine” revealed a mechanical arm of sorts, wired to a metallic sphere shaped like a trash can lid. The photo bordered on classified information, and Kenta felt lucky to have seen it at all. It would definitely come in handy now.

The receptionist bustled out of Krane’s office with a glass of tap water, and handed it to Valtor as soon as she’d returned. Valtor, who was actually somewhat thirsty after riding through the high-winded sky environment on Bolt, snatched the glass and gulped down the water instantly, putting on a convincing show. Kenta silently congratulated him in his mind, and pulled out his Master Ball to show the receptionist.

“Um, I’ve been asked to deliver this to Professor Krane,” he said in a modest voice, looking over the receptionist’s shoulder at Krane’s retreating back. Playing dumb, he pointed in Krane’s direction. “That wouldn’t happen to be him, would it?”

Kenta glanced at the receptionist; she was staring at the Master Ball in silent astonishment. Remembering that the Master Ball was a very sensitive item, he pushed it back into his pocket. She looked back up at him. “Krane?” she asked distantly, then came to her senses. “Oh! Excuse me! Professor Krane!”

Krane, who’d been getting into a backroom elevator with his younger companion, turned to the redheaded boy with a diffident smile. “Would you excuse me, Maikeru?” Kenta heard him say. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”

“What? But . . . I need you with me for this-”

“Mr. Krane, sir?” asked Kenta, walking up to him and saluting officially. He noticed that Valtor was still right beside him, clinging to his arm now. “I’ve got something for you. Can we go to your office for just a minute?”

He held up the Master Ball for Krane to see. Almost identically to the receptionist, the professor stared at the ball as though it were a snake, and all traces of his pleasant expression gave way to horror. Beside him, the boy named Maikeru looked at him with a confused expression . . . and was Kenta imagining it, or was there suspicion?

“Professor,” said Maikeru interrogatively, looking from the Master Ball to his associate, “what is the meaning of this? You don’t have the clearances to be holding a Master Ball anymore. This project was supposed to be dropped.”

“This . . . this isn’t for me,” stammered Krane in objection, backing away from the ball fearfully. “I never ordered anything of the sort! I know my boundaries!”

“Sir, this isn’t actually for you,” said Kenta hastily, thinking fast. “I just need you to pass it on to the right person. You are the head of the lab after all.” He motioned insistently at Krane’s office with his head. “Can we please go in there for a minute?”

The professor looked at Kenta with a mingled expression of guilt and frustration, then pointed at his office doors in a swift arm-sweeping movement. “After you,” he muttered, and Kenta hurried in without a second’s delay, pulling Valtor with him. Krane looked to Maikeru beside him, and putting up his arms in defense, mouthed I don’t know! silently. Following the elder boy in the officer’s uniform and the cloaked younger man with him, he shut the doors behind him without another glance at Maikeru.

Kenta barely had time to sweep the rather bland and empty office with his eyes when Professor Krane was in his face, beside himself with fury. “Who told you to bring one of those things in here??” Krane demanded, pointing at the Master Ball in Kenta’s right hand. “Don’t you know who I was just talking to?! Don’t you realize what you might’ve done? Who is your commanding officer, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Krane, sir,” said Kenta, tugging him gently towards his desk, “but you need to step away from the door, please.”

“Wh-? Get your hands off me. What do you think you’re doing?”

“Protecting you from being squashed. Valtor!”

That was his brother’s cue. Valtor reached into his pocket, withdrawing the Heavy Ball within, and flung it towards the door. In a burst of light, Snorlax’s gigantic body was covering the entire front half of the room, completely blocking any avenue of escape. A security camera on the ceiling crumbled to bits as Snorlax’s flab pushed relentlessly against it.

Krane looked blown away. His eyes grew even bigger as Kenta removed the cap and military jacket from his upper torso, revealing an inner layer of clothing- the Birch costume. Tugging Brendan’s trademark headband on, Kenta returned his focus to the shaken professor, his eyes glinting in the office light. It was time to talk business.

“Professor Krane, developer of the world’s first official Snag Machine. We need to borrow your technology for a short amount of time.”

Kenta watched as Krane’s eyes flickered over to his desk, before returning to his own. “Who are you children?” he asked, putting on a brave front. “What do you want with the Snag Machine?”

“What do you think we want with it?” snapped Valtor, who was already going through the desk and scanning the walls. He turned to Kenta with a worried expression. “It’s not here.”

“It is here,” Kenta told him sternly, hoping as hard as he could that it was. “It’s just well- hidden. They’ll have amped up security after the Cipher incident one years ago. Try knocking on the walls and floors, see if you can find a hollow spot.”

“The people of Cipher were low-down thieves! Crooks! Kidnappers!” shouted Krane in panic, backing away from Kenta until he tripped and fell against the pudgy body of Snorlax behind him. “Just like you!”

“Don’t be so quick to judge,” said Kenta as composedly as he could- which was an effort. “Do you think we would use the Snag Machine to take someone else’s pokémon? No. We would not.”

“Oh, really?” Krane pushed fruitlessly against Snorlax’s belly, but the fat and heavy pokémon wasn’t budging an inch. “What other use could you possibly have for it?”

“How about . . .” Kenta eyed Krane sharply. “Taking back our own?”

Professor Krane looked back at him with a new astonishment, then resumed his outrage. “Steal back your own?” he snapped with a mirthless laugh. “Ha! So you can pull more stunts like this? This is precisely why Maikeru took Cipher’s shadow pokémon from them, years ago. They were a danger to society!”

“Let me get your opinion on something, Professor,” Kenta interrupted forcefully, cutting off Krane’s rant. “Let’s say there were two boys on a playground, and one was playing fetch with a new puppy he’d been given for his birthday.” He narrowed his eyes. “But the second boy didn’t like what he saw, so he dog-napped the puppy. If the first boy then tried to rescue his puppy back . . .” He crossed his arms resolutely. “Would you consider him a thief?”

“That’s misrepresenting the issue entirely,” Krane fired back. “Why don’t you try looking at it this way? What if the first boy was learning how to shoot a sling, and the second person was really his father, who knew the danger of slingshots? He would be no thief, if he took the sling away for the good of his son. On the contrary, his son would be a disobedient scoundrel if he tried to take his sling back!”

“My concern is that the father starts learning how to use the slingshot, himself,” Kenta parried. Krane let out another humorless laugh. “That’s ridiculous!” he said dismissively, flinging his arm in heat of the debate. “No father figure would do that!”

“Then maybe we should’ve stuck with my example,” said Kenta tenaciously. “The only thefts so far have been committed by the members of G.R.I.P. Call me disobedient if you want, but I consider my pokémon family. I don’t care if you consider them weapons. It only proves to me that you’re of the same mindset as Cipher. Like you, they were only ever able to see pokémon as tools of destruction.”

Krane opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His expression softened from hard anger to horrified realization. “No,” he gasped. “I would never-”

“Kenta!” called Valtor, sounding excited. “I think we’ve got something! The floor under Krane’s chair- it’s hollow!”

“Nicely done, Valtor!” exclaimed Kenta, running immediately over to where Valtor was standing behind Krane’s desk. He turned back to the professor, with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but please tell us where the button is for opening up the floor here. Otherwise we’ll just have to bust through manually.”

Professor Krane was silent for about five seconds. “The red one,” he finally said. “Under the desk.”

Kenta was too late to stop Valtor as he reached for the button and pressed it. “Valtor, no! Don’t-!”

“What? What?” Valtor looked at him, terrified. Kenta gritted his teeth. “It’s the silent alarm. He made us hit the panic button!”

“G.R.I.P.’s intentions for your pokémon are better than anything you can do for them,” said Krane with gritted teeth. “They’re going back to nature. Where they belong.”

Kenta pulled out his Friend Ball and glanced over at Krane for one second. “If you seriously believe that,” he said, letting it drop, “then I’ll forgive you tricking us. You’re not a bad man at heart.”

One second later, Bolt’s gigantic form stood before the Daitan brothers. Kenta pointed at the floor, where Valtor had spotted the hidden trapdoor. “Right there, Bolt. Use Brick Break!” The dragon pokémon immediately slammed its rock-hard head into the floor, and it gave way with a great shattering like glass. Concealed beneath the broken trapdoor sat a concrete stairwell leading down to a hidden basement of sorts, a descent into darkness. As Kenta and Valtor gazed down into the passage, a banging from the front of the room issued behind Snorlax’s relaxed body.

“Open this door!” came a muffled demand from outside, from one of the guards. “Let us through, or we’ll force our way in!”

“We haven’t got much time,” muttered Kenta, motioning Valtor to follow him. “Hand me the flashlight. We’ve gotta search quickly!”

Valtor, who’d been in charge of their backpack, pulled out a heavy-duty flashlight from the side pocket and pushed it hurriedly into Kenta’s hands. The latter clicked it on and galloped down the stairs at once, beckoning Valtor to follow. As the two brothers reached the bottom, Kenta spotted a light switch at the bottom of the stairwell and clicked it on. The downstairs chamber was flooded with light, revealing everything in Krane’s storage room. Mostly, there was nothing but scattered pages of notes all over the place, along with bits and pieces to old machines. However, in the far back left corner of the room, lying on the upper torso of a headless mannequin, sat the very prize that the brothers had come all the way out into the desert region seeking. Kenta beamed the flashlight onto the Snag Machine and nodded to Valtor, who hurried forward and removed it, putting on gloves as he went. Without wasting another second, hearts pounding from the pressure, they scurried back up the stairs as fast as their legs could carry them.

“Kenta,” panted Valtor, as he followed his brother back out of the opening in the floor, “weren’t you saying the Snag Machine was made of metal? It feels light . . .”

Kenta chanced a glance at the arm-and-chest shaped device in Valtor’s arms, and he felt his stomach plummet at the sight. This Snag Machine was like the Snag Machine he’d seen previously in shape only. The whole thing was made of plastic, wires and all, and had no movable parts to it at all. It was a fake.

“Put it down, Valtor!” Kenta commanded angrily, almost in tears from disappointment. “That thing’s no good!” Turning to face Professor Krane, who was still trapped in the room, Kenta glowered at him as rage flared up in his chest. “You cheating bastard,” he spat furiously, marching the frightened scientist into a corner while shining the flashlight directly in his eyes. “Are you proud of your little decoy? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Teeth gritted together, his vision a haze of red, Kenta reached out and grabbed Krane by the knot of his tie. He pulled the terrified older man up close to his face, until the two of them were almost breathing down each others’ nostrils. Kenta’s face was livid with wrath. “Well, I’ll bet you didn’t think this part through,” he grated through his teeth, shaking Krane by the neck. “Now you tell me where the real Snag Machine is. I must save Bakuphoon. Tell me, you worm, or I’ll punish you- ”

“Megahorn!”

Snorlax, who’d been blocking the door, was suddenly pitched across the room like a giant stuffed doll. Bolt reacted instantly, pulling Valtor out of harm’s way, and Snorlax landed on Krane’s desk and crushed it with a great smashing noise. All eyes turned to the cleared doorway, where three guards and a Heracross stood in attack poses. The stag beetle pokémon, unbelievably, had taken Snorlax under its horn and flung him like a catapult with its strength. Now Snorlax lay fallen, defeated, and Valtor raised his Heavy Ball to recall him with a shocked expression. Kenta clenched his fist.

No! We will NOT be defeated here!

“Bolt!” he commanded, pointing at the Heracross, “Aerial Ace, go!” Instantaneously, the Salamence lifted off and hurled into Heracross with wings spinning like a propeller blade. The enemy pokémon was sent hurling backwards into the laboratory’s exterior glass wall, where it shattered through and dropped out of sight in a rain of shards. One of the guards turned and dashed away to attend to his fallen pokémon, while the other two raised their own pokéballs to attack Bolt. Out flew a Gardevoir and a Rhydon, and before their feet had touched the floor, Kenta gave his next command.

“Earthquake!”

At once, Bolt shot up at the ceiling with one clap of his wings. With another enormous flap motion, he dive-bombed between the guards’ two pokémon and smashed the ground on all fours, sending a devastating tremor through the laboratory. Every glass item in sight shattered with a deafening noise, and everyone covered their heads as a lethal rain of shards sprinkled down from above. Gardevoir and Rhydon lay motionless on the ground, their nerves shot from the relentless rattling. Kenta hurried up to Bolt’s side and patted the Salamence’s cheek, a fierce smile on his face. “Amazing work as always, my friend.” He looked around. “Now, is anyone else going to get in the way, or can we leave without causing further damage?”

“Hey!”

Kenta turned around; Valtor was waving insistently at him while holding Professor Krane by the shoulder. The professor himself lay semi-conscious on the floor, groaning softly as he lay with his head on Valtor’s knee. “Should we take this guy?” asked Valtor hurriedly, looking fearfully at Kenta. “He’ll know where the real Snag Machine is. He can still helpful to us!”

For just a moment, Kenta was all for the idea. But something stopped him from scooping up the professor and commanding Bolt to fly for all he was worth, a powerful guilt that overcame even the intensity of the situation at hand. Indeed, Krane would’ve been useful, but there was something more important to be considered. Consistency: Kenta had to be consistent with his beliefs. All was for naught if he fell short here.

“No.” Kenta beckoned Valtor away from Krane, to himself, his shoulders slumped. “We can’t do it. We can’t kidnap him.”

“What? But . . . but why not?”

Kenta looked at the ground, feeling the weight of defeat pressing the energy out of him. “Because if we stole him, he’d be right about us. And we’re not thieves. Isn’t it bad enough that we’re liars?”

“Wha-?” Valtor stared at him. “Kenta, what are you saying? It’s okay to borrow their Snag Machine, but not their professor?”

“It was never okay to ‘borrow’ their Snag Machine,” said Kenta bitterly. “Both of us knew that from the start. And look what it’s caused. There has to be a better way.”

“Yes, look what it’s caused,” came a new voice from out of nowhere. “Glaceon, Ice Beam attack, now!” Suddenly, immediately, a chilling ray of frost struck Bolt in the chest just below his neck, and worked its way rapidly down the rest of his scaly body. The Salamence gave a high-pitched roar of surprise and agonizing pain, which faded into nothing as the freeze stiffened his throat.

“BOLT!” cried Kenta in alarm, running up to his enormous winged pokémon as it collapsed to the ground. “No! Bolt, hold on!”

“You. Miserable. Fraud.” The redheaded young man from earlier, Maikeru, strode up to the fallen trainer and pokémon with a look of irked composure on his face. A sky- blue Eevee evolution trotted at his side with an icy mist surrounding its body: a Glaceon. Maikeru stood over Kenta from three feet away, with one hand on his hip and the other under his chin as he looked down in displeasure. “So, you weren’t an officer at all,” he said in disgust. “And you thought you’d attack my home and my mentor, in hopes of stealing the gift that keeps on giving to all pokémon thieves. Well, you got what was coming to you.”

Maikeru’s eyes flicked to Bolt’s unmoving form. “I regret doing that to this dragon, though. Such a fine-looking pokémon he is. If you’d just given him up to G.R.I.P. like a good person, he wouldn’t have had to endure my Glaceon’s Ice Beam.” His eyes narrowed. “Indeed, he didn’t deserve it. You should’ve taken the blow. Or perhaps your little partner there, who took advantage of poor Kaoru’s kindness. Tsk, but I’m wasting my words. All outlaws know the difference between good and evil in their hearts, but they choose to be evil anyway.”

“We’re not evil!” protested Valtor, meeting Maikeru eye-to-eye. “We didn’t want this! All we wished to do was-”

“Don’t.” Maikeru put out his hand, indicating Valtor to stop. “Don’t feed me that. I’ve faced more criminals than you have hairs on your head. You have a Master Ball. You have illegal uber pokémon. And you have about seventy million yen’s worth of damages against you. You are beyond my sympathy.”

“There’s no point in talking to him,” said Kenta, getting up slowly with a morbid smile on his face. “He’s convinced of himself in his mind. I’ll tell you what; I’ve never heard anyone more right, and yet wrong.”

“Oh, am I right, but wrong?” asked Maikeru half-interestedly, as he and Valtor watched Kenta recall Bolt into the Friend Ball. “Do tell me what you mean, before the guards take you away to court.”

Kenta met his eyes, still bearing the same smile. “No.”

“No?”

Valtor straightened up as Kenta’s eyes flicked back to him. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you for a while,” he called to his brother, holding up the Master Ball for him to see. “But I’ve somehow always managed to avoid it until now. You might’ve been wondering where I get my boldness from; the certainty I won’t be hurt by wild pokémon of defeated by trainers around my level. Last but not least, you’ll now see why electrical assaults don’t work against me. After this, your confidence will be renewed, and you’ll have the strength to fight another day.”

Maikeru raised an eyebrow, staring at Kenta’s Master Ball. “What in the hell are you talking abou-?” he said, then stopped short at the sight of his opponent’s posture. Kenta had his arm back and knees bent, and before Maikeru could say another word, he threw the Master Ball high into the air. For a moment, it whirled gracefully in an upward ascent, then it exploded open. All at once, the atmosphere was filled with blinding light, and the air crackled with the sound of electrical power. Maikeru stared up at the wonder above his head, jaw hanging, unable to pull his eyes away.

“Impossible . . . how can it be? How could you have-?”

Valtor gazed up at the winged beacon of golden light, lost for words, able only to repeat Maikeru’s words in his mind. Impossible . . . impossible . . . impossible . . .

Above everyone’s heads, bathed like an angel in golden light, hovered the legendary bird of thunder and lightning, Zapdos.

“You never stood a chance against us, from the very moment you first laid eyes on us,” Kenta boomed, making sure his voice was heard above the pressure-filled environment. He advanced on Maikeru, as blindingly bright forks of mini-lightning shot down from Zapdos’s body above and illuminated the left side of his face. From the legendary bird’s wing beats, gusts of powerful wind whipped all through the insides of the lab, making reality to anyone present that the place was experiencing an internal thunderstorm.

“Yes,” Kenta continued, hair whipping in his incensed face, “at any time, we could have summoned this calamity to destroy you. Even now, what is stopping me from giving the order and taking away everything you have? Nothing but the feeling of already knowing what it’s like.”

“Glaceon, Ice Beam!” shouted Maikeru, and almost before he’d completed the command, a freezing blue ray shot from his pokémon’s mouth. But Zapdos seemed to have seen it coming and whirled out of harm’s way; it had used Detect. The next instant, a bolt of lightning flashed down through the hole in the ceiling and lit Glaceon up like a torch. An explosive thunderclap resounded, rattling the very walls of the place with the force of its noise. Everyone, even Kenta, had to squeeze their eyes shut and push their hands over their ears from the intensity of the attack, and when they’d looked up, there was Glaceon twitching on the floor, its nervous system fried.

Alright, that’s enough chat . . . time to escape.

Kenta beckoned Valtor to his side, glaring down at the fallen pokémon as he did so. Maikeru stared at his ice pokémon in horror and disbelief, and only looked up when the colossal Zapdos landed in front of him. Kenta leaped up onto the legendary bird’s back and pulled Valtor up with his arm, then glanced back one more time at Maikeru. He was surprised to see that the latter wasn’t looking at him, but had become distracted by a movement in the background. The elevator at the rear of the lobby had opened, and a blue-haired girl about eleven years old charged out with a concerned face.

“Big brother! What’s happening? What is that?”

“No, Jovi!” shouted Maikeru, looking severely alarmed. “Get back! It’s not safe!”

“Is that your sister?” asked Valtor, clinging to Kenta’s waist from his seat on Zapdos’s rear. As the great golden bird lifted off, he cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted a departing message as loud as he could.

“Don’t worry her like that! You were never in any danger!”

Then they were gone, streaking towards a dark, cloudy sky that had been clear minutes ago.