Chapter 12 Derrick and his three shrouded associates lead Misty down a lengthy illuminated corridor. The walls on both sides were littered with dozens of cell doors. There was no doubt in Misty’s mind that all of the missing trainers were in this very building . . . wherever it was. *The other trainers must be locked behind these doors just like Gary and I were.* The air was stuffy and dull -- yet there was a moderate sterile scent lingering in it. This uncomfortable smell reminded Misty of a hospital. There were no windows anyplace as far as Misty could tell; and the heavy musty air led her to think that perhaps she was underground. Though, of course, her theory was impossible to confirm while in her present situation. She moved soundlessly, obediently following the man who held the other end of her rope leash. The man had long legs and a giant stride. Misty had to force her weakened frame to jog; and even with this effort she was barely managing to keep pace with him. Every time she slowed down he would give her rope a vicious yank, causing her to gag. She was terribly thirsty, her stomach ached with hunger, and she felt dirty and grimy all over. Yet none of this suffering compared to how horrendous it was to have this strange man constantly snapping the rope! Nothing compared to how awful the rope felt as it tightened around her throat like an Arbok’s wrap . . . scourging her delicate flesh and limiting her natural ability to breathe. Derrick was directing them all down the hallway. . . Gary was still slung limply over his shoulder. Misty peeped upward at Gary. He was unconscious and she was thankful. Unconscious was far better than dead. Gary actually looked peaceful, despite the bruises on his face. Misty’s heart writhed with sympathy for him. She knew first hand that he could easily be an obnoxious jerk. Only . . . he was exhaustively different right now. Gary Oak was currently oblivious to his pain. Oblivious to his life. For this preciously brief moment he was simply an innocent child . . . one who would soon awake to a nightmare. Misty’s body quivered. The physical torment that Gary had been enduring this whole time was horrifying. A small part of Misty was mildly irked with him. *Why does he have to be so stubborn? He could have prevented his last beating by simply agreeing to go to this strange meeting.* Misty’s thoughts were interrupted as Derrick turned towards a stairwell. They were headed down. At the bottom of the stairs was an enormous steel door. “Here we are. Right on time for the meeting,” Derrick broadcasted. “Just one thing. . .” Derrick rolled Gary off his shoulders, letting him drop brutally to the metal flooring. “Wake up. You’re no good like this, Sleeping Beauty,” Derrick mused to himself, poking Gary sternly with the toe of his boot. Gary didn’t stir. Derrick shrugged. “Give me the Zapper.” Misty didn’t know what a ‘Zapper’ was but she knew that it didn’t take a genius to understand it was bad. “Wait, please-” Misty uttered quietly; but she didn’t get to finish her words before one of the other men handed Derrick a suspicious device. It was no bigger than a Pokedex, but it was narrow and black in color. Derrick pressed a button and the Zapper sparked brightly like a Pikachu’s cheek. He knelt down next to Gary and held the device above his nose. Derrick pressed a button and electricity jutted forth from the Zapper -- spurting currents against Gary’s still face. Blood drizzled from Gary’s nose. His eyes snapped instantly open, his lips let way to a shrill yelp of painful trauma. His head tottered forward in confusion. Fortunately his confusion appeared significantly stronger than his pain. *The electric shock must have been mild. Gary seems okay.* “Welcome back,” Derrick sneered. His companions chuckled slightly beneath their shrouds; obviously Gary’s misery amused them. Gary shivered as his senses were regained. He proceeded to wipe the fresh blood from his face using his own dirty shirt sleeve. Gary glowered up ominously at Derrick. Then, as if his memory had just been revived from death, Gary’s head quickly snapped backward. His eyes began frantically searching and scanning every detail of the hall. Almost instantly his eyes landed on Misty. A vulnerable wash of relief bleached his face. Gary’s earnest gaze flooded into Misty’s; she could sense his alarm was somewhat alleviated just seeing that she was okay. *Yes, Gary, I’m fine.* She tried to assure him through their interlocked sight. *Please, just keep quiet! No matter where you are it seems that whenever you open your mouth you make people hate you! Stay quite!* Her eyes were silently begging that he understood. Misty knew that if Gary mouthed off to Derrick again the punishment would surly be unbearable. Gary nodded ever-so-slightly. Derrick noticed their unspoken communication. Without warning he smacked Gary across the face. “Mind ME!” Derrick commanded. Gary’s head had lurched backward from the strike, but overall he didn’t seem further damaged than he already was. Gary clenched his jaw, struggling to contain cuss words from exploding forth. *I can’t believe Gary’s pain tolerance . . . he has an iron will. Ash was right about him. . . Gary IS tough enough.* Derrick pulled Gary to his feet by the rope; then forced him to hobble a few steps. Gary was distinctly limping . . . mostly hopping on his sturdier left leg. Once Derrick was confident that Gary could manage on his own he turned back to the massive steel door. Derrick raised his fist and rapped strongly. Only a moment slithered by before the door was slowly pushed open from the other side. Misty was shocked to see how heavy the door was . . . it was taking the efforts of three full grown men to shove the door open. All three of these men’s identities were also hidden by shrouds. “Time for all of your questions to be answered,” Derrick declared. Misty and Gary exchanged a forewarning look. Derrick led the way through the door. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” tremors of panic raced through Misty’s system. Her head quaked back and forth with denial. *I can’t believe what I’m seeing!* “Shut up!” her captor hollered. He wrenched her rope leash until she hadn’t breath enough to create another scream. As she battled to fill her lungs with air Misty allowed her mind to absorb the scene around her. . . *They are all here?! Everyone . . . here in this very room?!* The room was enormous. It was as big as her Cerulean Gym battle arena. A grand stage towered in the very center off the room; around it were rows and rows of wooden chairs. . . . . . and seated in each chair was one of the missing trainers. Misty’s mind couldn’t even begin to identify everyone at once. Countless familiar faces were scattered everywhere . . . each face drenched in immeasurable agony. Every trainer was bound by thick ropes and anchored to the chair that they were -undoubtedly- forced to sit on. Misty’s sight washed uncontrollably over the closest row of seats. * Koga, Lance, Clair, Lieutenant Surge, Chuck, Janine . . .!* “Keep moving!” Misty was pressured forward. Derrick had now taken hold of Misty’s rope. He dragged both Misty and Gary towards two empty chairs. He pressed on their weak shoulders -- forcing them to sit. Derrick then securely fastened their ropes to the legs of the chairs. If either of them tried to move so much as a centimeter the ropes would grind into their throats . . . a spontaneous movement could be suicide. Derrick then returned to his three associates. Together they all walked away, exiting the gigantic room. Misty was almost hyperventilating now. Radiant splotches of light frisked about her eyes. Her face felt like it was inside a Fire Blast attack, and her body incased by an Ice Beam. *Oh my god! I am going to faint.* She swayed softly in her chair. Her mind was battling the darkness which loomed continually closer. Unexpectedly, Gary’s hand strained towards her . . . he gently interlocked his fingers with Misty’s . . . squeezing with reassurance. This refined movement alone resulted in Gary’s rope driving inward. His neck wept small droplets of blood. Misty was indebted to Gary for this. His touch alone provided her mind with a necessary anchor; she had something tangible to focus on. But even so, Misty could not manage to even acknowledge his selfless gesture. Misty was seated in the last chair of this row. The row was six or seven rows away from the stage. In front of her was the Elite Four’s Karen. Across the isle was Saffron City’s Sabrina. Sabrina was obviously sedated -- her eyes were barely open and she could not even hold up her own head. Across Sabrina arms were hundreds of tiny red dots . . . *No, wait they look like pin pricks . . . needle marks!* Misty observed the backs of numerous heads. She skimmed the gathering madly for any signs of her sisters. Unfortunately the amounts of people were disconcerting . . . everyone was smothered together; some too far away for her to pinpoint even a basic facial detail. Anger boiled within Misty. She finally managed to steady her perception somewhat and turned to Gary. Misty was wishing with her life that he had an answer for her. “Misty. . .” Gary’s own expression was equally devastated. “We ARE going to get out of here. Don’t give up on me now, okay?” She could only nod helplessly. Misty didn’t really know Gary very well at all. In the past each time she, Brock, and Ash had been unlucky enough to cross Gary’s cocky path she found herself wishing that he would just fall off a cliff. Only, at this moment, she was eternally grateful for his existence. “Misty?!” Misty’s attention was suddenly jolted as a familiar voice shouted her name. “Misty is that you?! Oh no!” Misty squinted through the fog of faces surrounding her, careful not to lean in any direction against the rope. She made out two tall shrouded figures entering the room; one of these figures was holding the end of a rope leash . . . tied to the end of the rope was. . . “Brock?!” Misty would recognize those chocolate spikes of hair anyplace! The shrouded man whacked Brock harshly on the back of his head, ordering him to keep quiet. Misty winced along with Brock as the blow stung him. There is no mortal word yet in creation to describe the extent of longing Misty felt. Longing . . . just to simply run to Brock and hug him. She desperately wanted to check the damage brought on by the strike to his head. But the best she could do was assess his condition with her eyes. Brock’s clothing was shredded and speckled with dried blood. He was slightly limping, though not as badly as Gary was. Overall he did not appear to have any obvious gruesome inflictions. She locked eyes with Brock deeply . . . they were both wondering the exact same thing: *Is Ash here too?* Their priceless eye-contact only lasted mere moments before Brock was pushed in another direction . . . disappearing within the masses of other trainers. “Brock . . .!” Misty cried. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her again. She couldn’t fight it back this time. She succumbed, sobbing loudly. “B-Brock! P-leas-e. . .oh. . .no. Come back.” Misty felt Gary’s sincere grip on her hand again . . . his thumb tenderly stroking her knuckles. “Attention everyone,” an elderly male voice dominated Misty’s ears. She glanced up . . . there, alone in the center of the stage was another shrouded man. This man was freakishly tall; and his black robes were composed with twice as much flowing fabric than the other shrouded men. He instantly reminded Misty of the Grim Reaper, only, fortunately he was not holding a scythe. “Everyone,” he rumbled again, succeeding in capturing all sets of eyes and ears. “I know how miserable you all are. But do not despair, for I stand here to answer all of your wonders. Some of you will take pride in my words, others will falter. No matter your final stance The Revival will take place.” The man paused for a short instant, as if wanting to make sure his words were understood. “Now then,” he continued -- a slight arrogance evident in his tone. “I am The Seer of The Righteous One. I am The Seer as my father was before me and his before him -- ten generations into the past. Toady marks the year we have prepared for. And I have gathered you all here for one sole purpose. . .”