Interlude – Job Application

Interlude – Job Application

INTERLUDE - JOB APPLICATION

Another pellet arced through the air, and Wimpod shot forward, her legs flailing with anticipation as her mouth opened wide. Her legs wriggled in the air, her mouth clamped down, and she skittled away with the food to eat it hidden away from them behind the undergrowth as if it was at risk of being stolen. Even now, her instinct as a Pokemon of prey told her that she should always eat in secret to not lure predators to her location. Chase didn't mind. He even found it somewhat cute. The little bug—he had come to realize she was smaller than average for her species—chittered, and her entire body vibrated in glee as she nestled close to a nearby rock Zangoose had brought over to sharpen her claws, savoring her prize in private. Chase watched with a soft smile, keeping his movements slow and gentle, knowing too well that any sudden motion might send her running off even further.

It was a game of some sort. He'd throw her food, and she'd catch it. It made her a lot more active and was motivation for her training; Wimpod was, after all, working just as hard as the others in her own way. Her food now finished, she slowly scuttled toward Chase's wheelchair and jumped on his lap. He couldn't really feel her countless legs against his, but the subtle pressure of her light weight was still there. Each white segment of her body moved almost independently of each other.

"Feeling full?" he asked.

The water type screeched, her antennas lying flat against her body and her eyes barely opened.

"Nap time, then." His hand rubbed at the chitin and gave his other Pokemon a knowing look, asking them to be quiet.

Not that they'd been very active in the first place. They'd trained hard enough today and deserved a break. Vikavolt crawled on a tree with his wings fanned out as he cut berries off branches with his sharp mandibles. One of them fell on Houndoom's head, and the fire type growled in annoyance. His tail curled up, and he decided to switch spots, settling in next to Zangoose to feel fur against him. It wasn't soft—in fact, Chase would call it prickly, but the dark type enjoyed sticking close to something or someone to relax. Zangoose glared, flashing her teeth as she softly kicked him in the ribs, and Houndoom started playfighting with her, biting her legs with a hint of flames in his maw until she packed up and moved a few hundred feet away. Houndoom let out a sigh that sounded almost human before settling down beside Chase, who reached over with his free hand to gently stroke the Pokemon's head. Sigilyph, meanwhile, clearly wanted to follow Zangoose to her new resting spot, but the psychic shot Chase a look—

"Don't worry about it," he whispered with a shrug. "I'll send Vikavolt to get you if I need to move around." Rolling this stupid fucking chair around in the woods was impossible; it just wasn't meant for this environment. They'd settled in the woods west of Canalave, which were relatively dense. That was why his main method of transportation levitatation by Sig. Anywhere else, though, and he'd move on his own. He hated relying on others for mobility, and he still wasn't used to not being able to move his legs.

Too late to cry about it. At least that bitch Mars was dead and her clone was in prison.

Ri shot him a passing, worried glance. He'd been half meditating, half chatting with Zangoose before she'd been chased away by Houndoom.

"M'fine." Chase loved Ri, but Arceus, he was way too perceptive at times. Sometimes, he just wanted to brood on his own without someone asking if he was okay for the thousandth time. "I'm thinking about the Gym Fight."

Byron's Gym had opened its doors to sign-ups today and would be opening fully in two. Chase had basically camped outside the Gym's doors to be among the first to register, and it had worked. Now, he could finally get the answers he'd been looking for all these years.

If you say so, the Lucario spoke into his mind. His aura felt like a bucket of ice had dropped on his head. The team is always available if you need to vent about Abomasnow or your legs. We miss him too. Every day.

Chase rolled his shoulders as if to shake an invisible hand off. "I'll be fine." He'd raised his tone on accident—his eyes looked down at Wimpod, who hadn't noticed. With a calmer tone, he continued, "He wouldn't want me to get stuck... mourning. He'd want me to keep going."

A pale blue light danced in the fighting type's palm, forming a bone that turned to solid steel. It was so pure Chase could see his starter's reflection on its surface. Weakness is not a fault. You learned that already. It is a facet of human emotion like any other.

Feeling the morality lesson coming, Chase tried not to roll his eyes and absent-mindedly agreed. He knew Ri was right—it just wasn't what he needed to hear right now. All this sentimentality and regret, when he was so close to what this entire year had built up to—Chase grunted when Ri threw the bone at his face. He caught it, though his palms hurt from the impact.

"The fuck was that for?" he whispered in a hiss. "You could have hit Wimpod."

Ri smirked and grew another bone, this time quicker. I wouldn't have. I'm far too excellent to miss, and you have a big head.

Vikavolt snorted—a sharp, crackling hiss with a buzzing undertone—and he munched on more berries.

"Fuck off, Vikavolt." Chase threw the bone at the electric type, who simply directed it away through magnetism. It was heavier than it had looked, but the Iron Islander had kept his body active since becoming crippled—or disabled. Crippled was offensive according to Cecilia, and while he didn't care, the disappointed look she had every time he said it was annoying, so he'd been trying to cut down on the usage, even if he was the one the word was directed toward.

His legs, however? They were growing smaller and smaller by the week. He was keeping them moving through physical therapy Ri helped him with that he had continued from the hospital so they wouldn't atrophy, but that was all they could do.

I meant big figuratively, by the way, Ri specified with a laugh of his own.

"What if you broke my skull? Then what?"

Don't be a baby, now.

"I'm sending you out hunting next, asshole."

Chase was completely broke, which was a familiar sight for him. All of his money, he'd spent on TMs for the Pokemon who needed it, and the only payment he got each month was the LTIP money from the League. He didn't even have money to feed himself more than twice a day, so he'd been forced to eat whatever food his Pokemon brought back. Today, it had been berries from this tree they'd found. Trees with so many types of berry like this one were relatively rare in Sinnoh, but more abundant in the south. Granted, they ranged from blegh to fuckin' disgusting to his human palate when not processed, but they were at least edible and nutritious.

Plus, they weren't that ripe, but it wasn't like they had time to waste. He could have gone to a Pokemon Center for food, but he tried to avoid wasting time, and only food for humans was free.

It was all jokes amidst his camp from that point on, and honestly, Chase appreciated the lightened atmosphere. The burden of expectations was heavy, and should he fail, he would have to wait for months or even years for another opportunity. A few hours later—when the sun had set, another round of training had been completed, and they were preparing to settle down and sleep, Chase began to hear the faint sound of an engine far above him.

It was subtle at first, so much so that he thought his ears had been playing tricks on him. The fire they'd lit to illuminate their surroundings at some point, but luckily he'd recalled Wimpod into her ball hours earlier so she could sleep soundly. He'd been burned by her scares countless times already—enough to know that Zangoose would have been pissed. And whatever Zangoose felt, Sig would follow, and then he'd have a whole situation to deal with.

The trees bent to Golurk's engines. Their branches thrashed as the giant construct descended, its thrusters casting an eerie purplish-red glow across the forest floor. Leaves scattered in wild spirals, and the underbrush trembled. Chase had to spit out a mouthful as his wheelchair was pushed a few inches back until he gripped the wheels, and the wind nearly blew off his cap. That was the annoying thing about Golurk. Having one as a flier meant you couldn't be discreet, or at least Cecilia hadn't specialized that way. The ghost's trainer climbed off his back in a single, elegant hop she had practiced a thousand times, and she held her hair still so it didn't fly in front of her scarred face. Chase's Pokemon, who were already used to such commotion, ignored their arrival, though Zangoose was probably covering her ears in displeasure. Sig wasn't great at barriers.

"Cece," Chase said. "I thought you were coming by tomorrow night. Battling pep talk and all that." The Unovan stepped close to the fire, and Chase got a better look at her. She looked neither happy nor unhappy. A little melancholic, maybe—it was still tough to tell with the eyes sometimes. "'Sup?"

"I can leave and come back if I'm interrupting," she said.

"Nah, I wasn't doin' much. Just hanging with these fucks." Chase gestured toward his team. Vikavolt landed on his head—which he was way too big for—and started gnawing at his hat. "It's meant lovingly! Arceus! Get off me!"

By the time the bug type had zipped off with Chase's hat, and he wouldn't be back for an hour at least. Cecilia was grinning. So she wasn't hiding some kind of depression behind walls. Or at least not one large enough to see her collapse before him like when she'd just broken up with Grace. Those nights sure had been long.

She replied while he flattened his hair, which had now risen up due to static, "I have something to tell you, but maybe we should do our routine first."

"Sure." Had she looked like she needed it, then he would have pressed answers out of her. "So, Cecilia. What have you done to achieve your goals since we last saw each other?"

Words spilled out of her mouth. Training, research, reading news articles—more of the usual she'd been doing for weeks at this point. It was less of a thing to prove to each other that they were working toward their dream, though it was also that, but it was just something to hold each other accountable. Cecilia had come changed from her experience down south, and she wouldn't let the light within her go out for anybody. Something was new, however: a third meeting with her new co-workers yesterday. Cecilia called all of them good kids. Innocent, yet passionate to make it far, and ready to accommodate her despite the rumors swirling around in that country. Unova was basically shit covered in gold, wheras most regions were just shit. Chase didn't really care for them. Instead, he kept asking about this Juniper woman until his friend ran out of words.

It was his turn next, and his was more boring than it had been the last time they'd seen each other. He hadn't gone to the Iron Islands again like last week to talk to the people or see how they needed help. Instead, he'd stuck in these woods, going off-route to train with wild Pokemon who were either aggressive or who were looking for a challenge. Luckily, Cecilia often came by to hand over potions he couldn't afford, so his Pokemon were in good shape. All he'd done was more training every day.

"I fear that there might be something wrong with me on the social level. It unsettles me."

"This is what you wanted to speak about?" he asked.

His friend nodded, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. "I did something objectively bad today, or at least I did according to Talonflame and Slowking." Golurk let out a booming sound of disapproval beside her. "And Lehmhart." She glanced up at him. "But parts of it made you happy too, it was fifty-fifty." The ground type patted the top of her head with a single finger, and she laughed at him.

The moon peaked in between the trees, shining some of its light on the surroundings.

Chase sighed, leaning against his palm as he stared at her through the crackling flames. "Tell me about it. I'll see if it's bullshit or not."

So she did.

Chase understood the gist of it. Romantic feelings were icky and weird, but he knew what they were supposed to be, or he thought so. Cece had strung Emilia along with her new girl Temperance until yesterday, and had gotten into a verbal fight with Pauline over it. She'd pointed out that she just wished Emilia had said something sooner so it didn't have to come to this instead of suffering in silence. It reminded her too much of her first relationship, and she hated that. As far as he knew, it was the first actual fight she'd ever gotten in with someone other than Grace when they'd broken up. He was almost proud of her—he could see why that big hulk of a golem was partly prideful as well. It must have been astonishing to see his trainer progress so quickly.

Almost.

Almost proud of her.

He also figured she was acting moronic.

"I don't think I'll be speaking to them anymore, unfortunately. And things are going to be awkward with Louis, since he's stuck in the middle of every side, but I've been rude to him. I figure he'll slowly drift away," the Unovan lamented with a deep sigh. Her hands folded neatly atop her lap. "I screwed it up. But I can't help but feel like I should be sadder, and yet the anguish isn't coming. That's why I'm saying I feel like there's something wrong with me."

It couldn't be ghost fuckery. That would have had the opposite effect—no, Cecilia was in control of her own emotions here.

"Just when I was starting to get along with her," Chase complained. They weren't really friends, but he'd enjoyed Emilia's company in the few times they'd seen each other since Coronet, even if part of that was most likely because she and Pauline had saved his life. "Sucks."

She winced, quick and hard. "Sorry."

"You're good, man. I make my own decisions on who to hang with."

Her eyes softened in relief. Maybe she'd thought he'd blow up at her and tell her to leave. The thought of it had never even popped up in his head until now. She'd done bad, yes, but she was hopefully learning. Like a child going to kindergarten and socializing for the first time, except she was leaving hurt in her wake. And in the grand scheme of things—if you took a step back and looked the situation in the eye, it wasn't much. Just some drama bullshit he'd tried to stay away from the entire year because it was honestly a waste of time. Unfortunately for him, Cecilia seemed to get involved in that a whole lot. Chase leaned back in his chair with a groan.

"You sound like an old man," she quipped.

"You sound like a bitch," he said back.

His friend chuckled, light dancing across her dark hair as it swayed with the movement of her face. "I do. I really wish I didn't. I've never done anything like this. It was always comply, comply, comply. Nod and smile, say sorry, lower your head, and act like you were worse than trash. And after reading Grace's post, I just saw red. Which is ironic, considering..." she motioned at her blank eyes.

"Who cares about what Grace is doing? Focus on yourself!"

"I was trying!" she countered, hands clenching on her lap. "I wasn't even looking at her socials! I haven't done that! People just talked about her on the forums!"

With another sigh, Chase grabbed water from the flask in his backpack, downing nearly all of its contents. "Look," he started as he closed the gourd. "You had your reasons. People always have their reasons for being assholes. I think. Some reasons are better than others, but at the end of the day, when the cards are all on the table, you're still an asshole. You've still hurt somebody, right? Or, uh, multiple people, in this case."

"Hmhm."

"And while in an ideal world, Emilia would have just told you to stop when you gave her the chance to end all of this and she technically did lie to you, people can't be expected to do what's best for themselves all the time." He waggled his finger and threw his flask back in his bag, though he missed. Houndoom grabbed it with his mouth and placed it back in. "Fucking up is a part of the human condition, I say. Some fuck ups are irredeemable in the eyes of those you hurt. No one in this world is owed forgiveness—forgiveness is a favor."

He thought of Grace, in that moment, and clenched his teeth. She'd been everything to her, and she couldn't be assed to wait a few weeks. At least she seemed to be doing well for herself with Maylene now, which was a good thing. Chase was no animal. He had principles—in this case not to hurt the one he was closest to—but he wished her to do well. Away from him.

Something about that level of betrayal just gave him the ick. He couldn't explain it.

It felt strange, standing behind the door Gym Leaders usually emerged from—a place typically hidden, like the back of a store counter or an office desk. It was a view Chase had never imagined he'd see. But now, with his own ambitions set on this role, he figured he'd better get used to it. Of course, he hadn't been hired yet, and even if he was, he'd be up against a dozen others vying for Byron's spot someday. Inside, rows of large lockers lined the walls, labeled from '0 badge' to '8 badge,' though there were far more of the former than the latter. It was common knowledge that as trainers rose in level, the number of Pokemon a Gym could field against them steadily dwindled.

"Do you want anything? I know a battle can take a lot out of a man, especially one that intense. You were really into it." Byron sat down on one of the chairs, legs spread out and resting his chin on both his fists as he stared at Chase. "I can make you a coffee."

"I don't need anything," he said. "Let's talk."

The man nodded, running a tired hand through his burgundy hair. "You said this was a job application."

"To be a Gym Trainer for the Canalave Gym." Chase adjusted his tie, more as a reflex than something he needed to do. "What did you think of the way my Pokemon fought? Did I show enough expertise?"

"Plenty. You taught them the art of steel types well—I was honestly surprised. When I heard you were coming to fight, I thought you'd rage at me. For everything."

Chase raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to, but it wouldn't have fixed anything. You're shit to the Iron Islands. I know that, and you know that." He moved closer, fingers tightening around his wheels. "So why? Explain it to me," he said. "Please."

If Chase had to guess, Byron looked distinctly uncomfortable with the topic. The Gym Leader was many things, but restrained was not one of them. Now, he seemed to recoil inward like some sort of dying creature or a newborn ghost exposed to the sunlight. Chase couldn't help but feel satisfied at that, because at least it meant that he cared. But on the other hand, him caring and not doing anything left a taste of bile in his mouth. Had he never expected at least one Iron Islander to make their way here and demand answers? If not Chase, then someone else would have come eventually, even if it took years.

"I knew it would happen eventually," Byron forced out. His voice was tight and constrained, never losing that gravely tone. It feels like my sins have finally caught up to me. It feels like I'm staring my failure in the face."

"Well," he said, "we couldn't all stay good little pets and die ignorant."

Byron stood once more and began to pace around the room, shovel rasping against the metallic floor with each step as if it were his third leg. Behind the doors, restrained bursts of cheers could be heard for whatever battle was being fought.

"You've served this country well by being an instrumental part of ridding ourselves of Team Galactic." Byron's gaze drifted to Chase's legs. Fuck him. "I owe you answers."

Chase wanted to retort, to say that he was owed answers regardless of whatever he had to do to save this world, but he wasn't going to ruin things when he was so close. Byron went to lock the door, noting that a seven-badge battle would take a while, and with a sigh, he began to talk.

"I started working in the mines when I was thirteen. My dad busted his leg in an accident on the job, and my mother's back had always been bad, so it fell onto me to feed us."

"Happens." It was a common story among the islands. Chase had been lucky his dad had been so sturdy and had allowed him to live a sheltered life for so long. "And?"

"I was small back then. Could fit into holes no one else could, and I was a fast learner. The supervisors always had something good to say about me—"

"So you could sit and stay and give them your paw when they asked you too?" he immediately said. "Sorry. Keep going."

Byron scratched the back of his unkempt hair. "One day, I stumbled upon a fossil. Bastiodon."

Back in the day, Chase would have asked how he'd gotten the money to revive a Shieldon when he was some poor miner with no money. Today, he'd come well-researched. It was a lottery of some sort—a promise to keep them all docile, one that would keep them dreaming for years as their arms broke upon iron ore. If you find a fossil, you either get to sell it to Teracore or revive it on their Pokedollar. Of course, the odds of finding a fossil were nearly zero, but every time people went to mine, they did so with hope of a single event that could take them overseas to a better life.

Most chose to sell to Teracore and get the fuck out with their families. Records had been difficult to find because Teracore was a tight lipped operation who had cordoned off most news coming out of the Iron Islands, and these people had always stayed anonymous before selling out of fear of getting hurt or worse because someone could want to steal their ticket to a better life. He'd needed to ask actual miners for the information during his visits. Byron? Byron chose to keep his fossil and become a trainer.

"I wanted to become a Gym Leader. I wanted to save the Iron Islands." He brought up his hand, as if to grip something Chase couldn't see, and he snatched the air before sagging like a stringless puppet. "I became the Gym Leader of Oreburgh first because my predecessor was old, and that was the best opening. There, I racked up experience and improved the lives of miners in the city." He shut his eyes tightly. "I thought I'd be able to do the same here. I was so excited at the prospect that I neglected my son and made him take over my Gym so he would preserve my reforms. I was wrong."

"You tried?"

"I could not even do one percent of what I wanted," he lamented. "This position has more chains than you think it does, boy."

"Do you want to be more detailed with that?"

"You get there," he said, "You take the seat, and you look upon everything you have power over. And it's just such a tangled, complicated mess—but that's not just it." He gripped his hair. "You... get contacted by both the League and Teracore about what sleeps beneath our shores. And you get utterly paralyzed."

Chase squinted. "What?"

Despair. Byron was despairing, eyes wide with the sheer horror of the knowledge that had gripped him by the throat all these years. To see him—the symbol of his oppression—so weak, was not what he had expected.

"You already have the highest clearance beneath the Champion," he said. "You deserve to know."

He was nearly breathless. "What is it?"

Byron grimaced, and answered with a whisper, "The source of all iron within our lands; the monster who has been sleeping there for untold millennia; Registeel."

—

Many beasts dotted this world. Monarchs with domains, each one more different than the last. Pokemon who were simply strong, both wild or trained, like that Steelix who had flattened his hometown or Cynthia's Garchomp. But there were the true monsters—the horrors that kept you up at night and that were truly impossible to put down for good. Cecilia had told him of Dialga, the ruler of Time whose mere roar had made her see her life split in four, or Giratina who still haunted her at night whenever she deigned to close her eyes for too long.

Registeel. The Iron Pokemon. The Alloy. Source of all iron that perpetually grew throughout the islands and the reason why Sinnoh was the largest manufacturer of steel in the entire world by far. They were quite literally getting rich off a sleeping God and had been for as long as Sinnoh had existed as a political entity. Even when the Iron Islands had been independent and had been Canalave's rival!

"There's much we don't know about it, but we also do know a lot. The fact that electrical devices malfunction when you get too close—or that it gives you cancer—"

"It gives you cancer?!"

"Not unless you're within its chamber for hours at a time!" Byron yelled. "Islanders are safe."

"What the actual fuck, Byron?" Chase screamed back. "Do you know what this implies? Are we in danger?!"

"No. The two times it's woken up, we've contained it." Byron traced the edge of his shovel with a trembling finger. "Well, Cynthia and whatever Elite Four she has available with her—Flint, Bertha or Lucian. I get the reports about all that pertains to Registeel, down to whatever sounds it's made that day. Every. Day."

"You can't..." obviously they couldn't kill it. "You can't move it?"

"Even if we could do that without jeopardizing hundreds of thousands of lives—Registeel is one of Sinnoh's main economic forces. They'd never risk it moving to some other country."

"So we get that thing buried under us mainly because it's profitable?" If he could, he would have laughed at how absurd it sounded. "Why does Teracore even know about this?"

"Because they work the land. They need to, or an accident would for sure have happened. Only their higher ups know, but they need to in order to implement their mining policies."

"And you can't tell them to fuck off and replace them with another company because they have decades of experience."

"Centuries. They've existed in some form or another for 473 years, mining for whatever Champion reigns." He shook his head in dismay. "And changing the status quo becomes terrifying when you know about it all. If I for example fight tooth and nail for two years to lower the quota every miner has to bring back—the unbalance has a chance to wake Registeel up more frequently. I allow the use of machines—beyond attracting more angry wild Pokemon, what if the electricity agitates Registeel? There's a reason all we use is gas lamps and non-electric tools deep underground."

"Fuck."

"Fuck," Byron mirrored. "You have it now. The entire story."

"But wait. What if you—that doesn't change not building more schools or hospitals!" Sure, he theoretically couldn't change mining practices—which Chase would have to figure out eventually—but what did that have to do with life outside of the mines?"

Dead eyes stared back at him. "There's a balance that must be maintained. Things must remain as they are."

"Huh?"

"It's been the same way for so long. It's beyond me. Beyond even Cynthia. I'm unfortunately a cog in the machine."

Ah.

So he was an asshole.

The vindication felt disgusting to Chase. A small little part of him wished there would have been a reason for it all.

There was a reason. It was all just bullshit. Smoke and mirrors, self justification that went so far that it became a whole lot of nothing. We can't build a new hospital because of Registeel. We can't teach people how to read because of Registeel. We can't pay people more because of Registeel. Say it out loud, and it sounded delusional.

"You're a coward," Chase realized. "You're scared of putting your hands on the steering wheel because you might crash the car."

Byron said nothing. He could barely face him. "I am. I am truly sorry."

"And you want me to just accept that? To just smile and wave and say that I understand?" He scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I bet those higher ups at Teracore are lying half the time while they squeeze profit out of us! We're a fucking colony!"

Eyes wandered his way until they stayed transfixed on Chase. "Do you know how tough it is to have to make the call that our people living in squalor might be better than tens of thousands—if not more people getting killed in an afternoon? Containment is the policy that takes precedent over everything. Team Galactic even tried to worm their way into that chamber without my knowing—I—" his shoulders sagged. "My tenure has been a failure. That's why I haven't been back to the Iron Islands. I'm far too ashamed, and I see how they look at me. I don't blame them."

"So far, it has been," Chase said. "So save your legacy. Hire me."

"And make you my successor?" Byron let out a saddened laugh and slapped his knee with a sluggish movement of his hand. "This is the strangest job interview I've ever given."

"Well, it's my first. But what I'm saying is—I can handle it. The weight that comes with every decision." Responsibility was something he'd learned long ago. "I won't pretend like I don't have a lot to learn or that I'd be better than you immediately, but give me a chance. Change can come slow at first. It can be gradual. I'll make you proud."

A hand outstretched.

Byron shook it. The grip was firm.

"You start tomorrow morning. You have much to learn."