Act 2: Interlude 4

Act 2: Interlude 4

To say that Steven Stone is having a long day would be a bit of an understatement.

Firstly, his Aerodactyl did something to upset his mate, a lovely and equally fiery Charizard owned by Drake. Aerodactyl always makes it everyone's problem when he lands himself in the doghouse, and has been uncooperative all day.

Secondly, his attempts to furret out more info on the happenings around Ash Ketchum have hit brick wall after brick wall. No matter how he tried, Kanto refused to part with any information regarding the young trainer beyond the absolute basics. Within him burns equal parts curiosity and a concerned desire to know what sort of possible danger the young, mysterious trainer might be dragging along in his wake. With so much else going on, Steven's curiosity has to be left on the back burner, something the champion loathes doing.

Thirdly

"returned in rough condition, but alive. I believe that concludes my report, Champion Stone."

Leaning back in his office chair, Steven sighs and looks at the ceiling, processing everything Lavaridge's Chief Pokemon Ranger just said.

A clash on Mount Chimney.

The involvement and near death of Lee Henson's group.

The appearance of Magma and their shadowy leader.

In one fell swoop, all of the information given to the Hoenn Champion by Lee Henson has more or less been validated, and many lingering suspicions of the man's motives have been put to rest. If all the reports are accurate, then Lee's Ninetales was nearly a fatality in the melee, so at the very least, the man is genuine in standing against the ecoterrorists.

A skeptical part of him asked, Well, what if he let Ninetales get hurt to throw off suspicion? What if he has another motive?

For a moment, Steven imagines Metagross in Ninetales' place, and part of his soul simply turns into a cold void, one that gnaws at the rest of his being with serrated fangs.

No. No man bonded so deeply to a pokemon would let them be harmed with such callous intentions. It's simply not possible.

Lee reportedly refused to provide memories of the incident to a sanctioned Psychic-type belonging to the Lavaridge PD without his Ninetales present, but Brendan Birch stepped up and volunteered, providing countless precious details in his account.

The boy gave them numbers, names, faces, strength approximations, pokemon information, and verified the story shared between himself, Lee, and their Draconid friend, Zinnia. The plot to extract Fire type energy from the volcano for a reason Brendan didn't understand It fits Lee's abridged description of Magma's plans to awaken Groudon to a disturbingly accurate T.

Perhaps the greatest thing the young Birch provided is an accurate image of Magma's leader. A memory-assisted sketch of 'Maxie' matches one Maxwell Matsubusa.

Maxwell Matsubusa seems rather unremarkable on paper. Born into old money and journeying around Hoenn from the ages of 14 to 20, he inexplicably and abruptly retired from the life of a trainer and became an ecologist with a handful of published articles on the subject of nature conservation. Over the next two decades, he would go on to fund a handful of successful startups and was a key investor in the Devon Corporation, helping the Hoenn-based company grow and rise to rival Kanto's Silph Co. The smart business moves would nearly double the Matsubusa family's already impressive wealth.

Then Matsubusa began to pull back. He was never one for the public eye, but he became a recluse. No one truly minded, as rich-types tend to be strange that way, which is why no one noticed him quietly liquidating his assets, or moving his money out of Hoenn's National Bank. Eventually, the Hoenn civil government began to look for him regarding unpaid taxes, and that's when his disappearance came to light.

'That explains Magma's funding' Steven sighs once more.

Apparently, Maxie hasn't been idle over the years in regards to his pokemon. His stint as a trainer painted him as rather average, but if his Camerupt could fight and defeat three above-average teams all at the same time, then the Camerupt must at minimum be an Elite. That alone is worrisome, but even worse are the other things reported by young Brendan.

The Claydol.

The dangers presented by pokemon able to manipulate minds cannot be overstated. Mind reading, memory wiping, psychic domination? All felonious crimes punishable by decades, if not life, in prison. Even frontier regions and the borderline anarchist land of Orre agree on such things. The loss of one's sanctity of mind is a unique horror that many can't even properly fathom, and that's the reason why League-sanctioned Psychic-types are trained so thoroughly, and why amateur Psychics meddling where they shouldn't be are punished so harshly.

The description of the events upon the volcano makes it seem like Maxie was treating the cardinal sins of Psychic manipulation as a checklist. What in the world is compelling the man to do this? Regardless, Magma has made their intentions clear, and they can be afforded no quarter.

'What is Team Aqua doing during all of this?' Steven can't help but wonder. Do they have something even more insidious planned? Are they merely sitting back and watching? The inaction of Magma's rivals is disconcerting.

"Champion Stone?" Steven's deskphone asks. "Are you there?"

With a start, Steven realizes he's still on a conference call with Lavaridge's Chief Ranger. "My apologies, I was busy thinking," he says, sitting up and steepling his fingers on his desk. "Thank you for your prompt report, Ranger Jeremiah. I'm going to contact the Department of Justice once all the proper reports are on my desk and we can make sense of the situation. I have a feeling that Magma and their rivals, Aqua, are going to be wanted men very soon."

"That's good to hear, sir." The ranger sounds relieved. "I'll keep my men on high-alert. Do we have a timeframe on when we are going to receive an official update?"

Steven mulls it over. "That's difficult to say. I'm going to be personally overseeing the progress of this investigation, and I imagine that we will have an official decision within"

"Two weeks?" Maxie's frown is as grim as gray death itself. "Doctor, I believe that you are mistaken."

The interviewer frowns. "Doctor Kale, I urge you to reconsider. We wish to put your talents to use for the good of the world. We intend to push the boundaries of known science within the field of genetics, and your cooperation would be of immense aid. Surely you understand?"

"I do," Hector replies. "However, I don't believe that I am the best fit for this role. It's a very generous offer, but it's not for me."

The man across the table leans back, his glasses catching a harsh glare off of the dim lighting above. "Very well. If nothing else, please take this."

A business card is slid across the table.

"If you reconsider, and I do believe you will, contact me straight away."

On the plain white business card are a phone number and a name.

Dr. Fuji

(9999)-4352-5677

Everything after that day immediately spiraled out of control. Two days after the fateful meeting, Hector was called during work to meet with a grim-faced Blaine, Gym Leader of Cinnabar Island and Director of the Cinnabar Laboratory of Genetics. Out of nowhere, Blaine informed Hector that he was being terminated from his position within the lab. A shocked Hector tried to ask why, but Blaine would answer nothing.

It's fine, Hector thought once the shock passed. There are other jobs. No big deal.

How wrong he was.

Cinnabar University had an opening for a biology professor, but they rejected his application without so much as an interview.

A spot was open in Silph Co for a general laboratory manager, but they shot him down within minutes of submitting a resume.

Hell, an elementary school in need of a substitute science teacher didn't even call back.

Seemingly nowhere would take him. Then it dawned on him just how terrible a mistake agreeing to meet Doctor Fuji had been.

"If you reconsider, and I do believe you will, contact me straight away."

He did no such thing. Hector fled the region, running away to the distant land of Hoenn to escape, for the sheer reach of his tormentors clued him in on exactly who he had slighted.

Team Rocket.

Even without an official Team Rocket presence in Hoenn, the black mark painted upon him held fast, and employment was scarce. Down to his last credits and desperate, Hector latched onto the first people to give him a chance.

Team Magma.

By the time he realized their true nature, it was far too late. All he had done was flee from one criminal enterprise into another. Now he's here, using his hard-earned skills to keep a lobotomized monster in one piece.

Maxie raises an eyebrow, and Hector realizes that he's been silent for several seconds. Bowing his head once more, he speaks. "Yes, Leader Maxie. I'll make adjustments to Camerupt's medication schedule."

The red-clad man smiles. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll leave you to your work." With that, Maxie turns on his heel and marches out of the infirmary, Claydol floating silently behind him.

As the door behind Maxie clicks shut, Hector is left alone. Only Camerupt's labored breathing and the slow beep of the ECG machine hooked to the living volcano interrupt the silence. After a long moment of brooding to himself, the doctor steps over to a refrigerator in the corner, one emblazoned with a large NOT FOR FOOD sign. Opening it and reaching in, he takes a small, unlabeled phial and holds it up to the light.

The solution within the glass phial is clear as water, and no one would be able to tell just how insidious the concoction inside is just by looking. The drug within, formulated by Hector's own hands, retards the functions of a pokemon's cerebral cortex, hippocampus, and amygdala, all areas of the brain responsible for higher thought and emotional processing. One dose reduces a pokemon into a husk for days at a time.

The side effects of long-term usage? Unknown.

He turns the phial in his fingers, the chemicals within refracting the light into a rainbow.

Anyone else might have been confused as to why Maxie asked for a lower dose for Camerupt, but to a man like Hector, the reason is as clear as it is disturbing.

The drug isn't an end in itself; it's merely a set of training wheels for Claydol.

"I'm sorry, Camerupt," the doctor whispers to himself, shuffling over to a cabinet along the wall. Opening it, he withdraws a clean syringe and curses himself under his breath. "Not all who wear chains can be brothers."