Desert Hurts
By Puffin/Puffinstuf/Hector Gilbert

Chapter Two
"Arrival"

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.

A broad middle-aged man wearing a tattered red vest could have gotten up from the hard ground which he lay on. Maybe live for another few days, and hopefully get to lie around in a few dunes a mile or so away. But he didn't see anything worthwhile in aiming for nothing in particular.

His throat was drying up, but the thirst for reprisal was killing him. His skin was cracking for Golem and Nidoking... Tyranitar and Onix... Dugtrio and Sandslash.

A Natu. He didn't own one, so why did he find himself suddenly looking at one? Probably just to stare back. He knew Natu's stare very well; he had caught a few in his time, as they were good subjects for experimentation.

His heart skipped a beat. It had come for him. It was telling him something. It was telling him to stand up, which he did as he had nothing to lose.

Giovanni.

It referred to him by his own name, making his mind snap to attention. He remembered why he didn't like the Natu/Xatu series; they acted as if they knew everything - because, of course, they did.

Giovanni. We're leaving. We are going to teleport away from here.

Natu's telepathy was sensed by Giovanni with a severity that Giovanni recognized as just crossing the line to being a threat. Its thoughts had an "aftertaste", causing Giovanni's head to ache but also with the cold reminder that the Natu could do a lot more if it wanted.

Giovanni was too smart to not be suspicious. He got this sensation in his head only during his conversations with Mewtwo in the past, largely due to its dangerously sadistic nature which as far as he was aware was not and has never been present in the Natu/Xatu series. That Natu had to have a trainer with rather individual interests.

Giovanni thought a lot but did nothing about his concerns for the sake of his pride, as he would feel better being killed by a Human or a Pokémon rather than the elements. No common death for Giovanni; he founded Team Rocket, he built up a strong Pokémon team (before his rebelling Rockets killed them all in the process of throwing him out), and so now he was going to go in style.

With that, Giovanni clung on to the Natu with no more hesitation. The feeling in his head went away, and so he teleported.

One month later...

Misty was surprised by how quickly day turned into night on her roughly westward course, as she could have sworn that she had only woken up a few hours beforehand (when she could recall still being with Brock). But this surprise was suppressed when the thought that perhaps time was going by quicker than she had thought crossed her mind.

Either way, she had just entered this "City" that Will had told her about earlier. Here the feel of the ground had noticeably changed from the stale, flat surface of the effective desert outside (and the sand of the dunes further onward) to the grinding together of the small and blunt stones below her feet that had laid out across the grounds inside the City.

If it wasn't for the unusual design of the City, it would have reminded Misty of what life used to be like before wartime. A long, wide and straight path protruded from the courtyard, leading to a single towering skyscraper. An incredibly thick wall that must have been made of steel surrounded the City.

In fact, the City seemed much more like an odd sort of castle except in the respect that the entrance didn't appear to be at all protected. Misty just walked right in through a large gap in the wall to reach the courtyard.

The City appeared to be deserted outside of the large building in the center, where the white glare of florescent lights shone through the windows in the building. Misty hated florescent lights - they gave her headaches, and were all over the place once upon a time - but now they were a prime attraction to any place.

Misty began to walk quietly towards the building, but something was pulling her towards it. It felt like Home; a new world for her. She had to get there before her space was taken by someone else.

The cuts and scratches all over Misty seemed to fade away. With that, she stopped walking, and started running. Moving as fast as she could towards the building and its florescent lights, she kept her pace for as long as her body would allow.

But no matter what Misty did, she didn't get any closer to the building ahead. After many long minutes she finally collapsed, struggling to get her breath back after her stumble to the ground.

Misty lay on the ground, still thinking about florescent lights and the past luxuries that she never learned to appreciate in time. But in a few more minutes, she would try to keep going. All that kept her living in the first place was the promise of the City; she believed that - knowing them - Ash and Tracey were probably with Brock now.

She was quick to try to get up again. She found a man standing beside her; she grabbed his leg to try to get up.

"Manners, Misty." His leg then vanished, as he had teleported away.

Misty recognized the voice. It was Will's. She kept lying down.

Will must have re-appeared beside her, for she continued to hear his voice as she lay down. "Thank you for falling into my little trap. You have been... So kind."

"Not while I'm still conscious," Misty growled.

"Are you?"

***

"...And I was saying to him, 'they had to boycott Israel sometime!', but-"

"Hey, Kurt!" his friend interrupted. "Someone's coming."

They stood outside, apparently meaning to be guarding the small compound beside what were once Tohjo Falls. And, indeed, a figure in black with disheveled hair was heading in their direction. It obviously wasn't very often that they found someone there, at least anyone that was still moving.

They both noticed a sort of stammer in the man's movements, an indication that he was approaching his limits. The two guards watched him carefully, confirming that he was in fact moving towards them and not the entrance to the cave with the drained Falls some paces away to the left.

Kurt whipped his pistol out and tensed the grip on the trigger in readiness. His friend would have felt it prudent to do the same, if he had one in the first place. The man walking towards them - now appearing to them to be wearing the clothing of a male Team Rocket Executive - kept walking undisturbed.

He probably wasn't an Executive anymore. Usually they stayed bunched together in a group; kill one, and you would find ten more. Something must have happened to him. But still, Kurt had the gun. He would surely do the talking here.

"Hey!" he yelled.

The man from Team Rocket didn't respond. He still walked at his gradual pace, coming ever closer towards them both.

"This place is off-limits to unauthorized civilians!"

He finally stopped when he was only a few paces away from the two men. He sighed. "Hey."

Kurt raised an eyebrow at the man's raspy voice, pulling the catch at the back of his gun. "...You may need some identification."

"Bite me."

For a brief, tense moment Kurt looked back at his friend, then towards the stranger again. "We are afraid that you may bite us back."

Kurt didn't notice that the stranger also had a gun on him until his right eye hammered itself into his skull, lodged in with a bullet. After a moment in shock, the pain overtook him and he sank limply to the ground against the wall.

The remaining guard looked down at Kurt's body. He then looked back at the stranger, his eyes wide. He finally recognized him as Butch, of the old Team Rocket.

Butch's eyes shined with his cold smile. "Do you want to stay with your friend?"

The remaining guard could only shake his head.

"Well, then." Butch blew a puff of smoke from the gun he fired. "Show me the grand tour."

***

A young man in his late-teens got up from the bench that he was sitting on for the past twelve hours. Something in the air of the building was doping him down, preventing him from thinking properly as he remained in his cell. For the past few days, he was struggling to regain concentration but he found himself unable.

He got up at the sound of conversation outside, as he hadn't heard that since the morning. Eventually he managed to stagger to the slot on the door, specially placed for him to see them.

Predictably they were his cell guards, wearing the uniforms of Team Rocket Grunts. They were talking to each-other, seemingly taking no notice of the youth looking at them.

He noticed them carry an unconscious young woman in their arms, her legs grinding against the concrete floor. They paused for a second as one of them had to scratch himself. Then they both got moving again, until their voices faded away.

He collapsed beside the door, feeling his muscles grow numb. He was going to return to his usual daze again. But this time, he thought about the woman they were carrying.

...Misty Waterflower...

***

Butch broke their best champagne bottle with a flick of his wrist, letting it shatter into several pieces on the wooden floor. He brushed away a couple of glass shards with his foot before beginning to advance on the guard that brought him in.

"I want something to drink with," Butch hissed through his teeth. "Not something to get stoned with."

"Th-the water's at the back, in the cylinders," the guard explained.

Butch nodded at him in approval. "That's better."

Walking past a few more glass shards, Butch walked to the back of the compound's largest sector. Planks of wood creaked under Butch's feet, even at the slow pace he had to keep himself looking for water and aiming his pistol at the guard's face at the same time.

He inspected the steel cylinders with his arms, in each of their different sizes. They appeared to be filled with liquid, so the guard was probably right. After double-checking the guard, Butch stuffed his gun back into his pants when he found one that he could carry along in his arms quite comfortably.

Butch from there knew his way out of the compound, as the guard had rather conveniently left the entrance gate open rather than close it behind him. He walked out of the small building he was in, leaving the guard dumbfounded and dishonored.

Butch was just outside with his water when things started to go wrong.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Butch recognized Rob's voice. Butch didn't have to look to his side, as Rob was staring right at him.

Looking at the gate, Butch only found several armed personnel. To his left and to his right, they surrounded Butch decisively. Rob had his own gun anyway, and Butch knew that he was a good shot.

Butch ground his teeth. "Is that a rhetorical question?"

"Yes, it would be," Rob chuckled. "Now put the water on the ground."

Butch obliged, placing the cylinder on the ground as calmly as he could to keep it from tipping over on its side. He could only look down at the ground now. If anything, the ground was what Rob wanted Butch to look at.

"Now," Rob continued, "unless you wish to castrate yourself in the near future, get that gun out of your pants."

Butch removed the pistol Brock had practically given him, and placed it on the ground beside the water.

"I suppose that you're the one in charge here," Butch sighed.

"And I "suppose" that you are correct," Rob replied, nodding at his bodyguard to lower their weapons.

Butch wasn't too surprised, but he knew that thousands would be. Rob was also violently ejected from Team Rocket, but at an early stage in their post-war reform. But he had friends, and Butch knew that Rob had wanted him to be one of those people.

There was a short pause in speech before Rob predictably tutted. "Not at your usual standard now, are you Butch? This is quite a desperate measure for you." Butch kept looking at the ground, but knew that he was smiling. "Surely you must have known about my arrangement. One person holds a gun, the other-"

"-Has control over the alarm," Butch realized, looking at the guard behind him.

The guard grinned widely. "Maybe you should go with them."

Rob's eyes lit up. "My, what a brilliant idea!" He looked back at Butch. "Butch, I am now placing you under arrest. How about it?"

Butch breathed out deeply, resigning.