Without a trace of doubt, the first of the wormholes had been the most devastating– even without accounting for what it had cost Emmet, personally.

An attack on Gear Station would be [devastating] regardless of the source, and they had done their utmost to ensure safety within. When Team Plasma had reared their heads, of course they’d tried for a [???] opening move, and it was only due to the dutiful staff and aid of the trainers in attendance– whether they be subway trainers or challengers– that this initial, overwhelming attack had been repelled.

Fighting back a tear in time and space was something all together more impossible.

Ingo had bought them time, though, doing his best to ward bystanders away from the active hazard, instructing each of his team members near simultaneously to keep everyone safe in such a massive thoroughfare. Emmet, meanwhile, had been busy with the evacuation efforts– coordinating the crowds in orderly fashion whilst also juggling the timetables. Inbound lines couldn’t be allowed to let their passengers disembark into [danger], and the order in which to contact them and reroute was key.

Emmet hadn’t actually been present when this hitherto-unknown threat flared to life and stole his brother away. It wouldn’t have changed anything if he had, but he’d never quite been able to get past that fact.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t seen it happen, though. He’d watched the footage back so many times that he sometimes saw it in his sleep; not even front and center, but in the otherwise foggy details of dreams– on a passenger’s Xtransceiver or playing out in the reflection of a window.

As terrible as the [footage] was, it was also something of a saving grace.

There was no keeping such a [massive] supernatural disaster quiet, and neither had Emmet particularly wanted to do that. He wanted to understand, both for all that it might help his own agenda and in keeping the public safe, should the worst happen and such a phenomena reoccur. While he hadn’t known who to contact, it hadn’t mattered; Interpol had found him.

The agent he’d spoken with had been relatively certain that the Ultra Wormholes themselves were… if not harmless, not a deadly threat. Even then, with his attention being pulled in a dozen different directions, Emmet had realized that he wasn’t being given the whole story– but it had been enough to know that, wherever or whenever he was, Ingo was still alive, could still be reached. He’d been more than happy to comply with the investigation, completely willing to allow whatever readings and offer a copy of that day’s security feed. He hadn’t realized the in he’d given himself at the time, favoring, instead, the fact that Interpol would assist him in turn.

If the fallout hadn’t been overwhelming enough, there was also abrupt beginning and end to the missing persons case. Part of Interpol’s [support] had been the fact that they were an international organization; under normal circumstances, even a large-scale search might never [broach?] the borders of its region. Maybe, in high profile cases, news could make its way to the neighboring provinces, or if the [missing] individual had ties to another region there might be a token attempt abroad, but both exceptions were rare.

Those lost to time and space– fallers, they were called– could appear anywhere in the world, even years out. Unless one was incredibly lucky, a localized effort would do very little, meaning Interpol’s involvement was the best chance of actually finding Ingo.

And… to their credit, it had seen success.

That said, nobody had expected the overwhelming response of ‘you mean that weird Warden we have to learn about in trainers’ school?’ from across Sinnoh.

It was baffling, even to the individuals Emmet had been working with. There were cases of people being thrown across the world or hurtled forward in time, but never backwards. The revelation came as something of a mixed blessing; it was a definite arrival point, albeit one far from their [reach], all but eliminating the element of mystery. They knew the when and where, but as things currently stood, could do nothing to access it.

There were exactly two factors that kept Emmet from taking matters into his own hands, from storming the very region that had [solved the mystery] and taking on Dialga itself.

The first was that there was surviving record of the Warden Ingo. While aspiring trainers learned the name in regards to the gym challenge they [aspired] to undertake, he was less known for the [mystery] surrounding his tenure: he’d arrived in Hisui under impossible circumstances, and years later had vanished just as abruptly. The former was undoubtedly caused by the Ultra Wormhole, so was it so far fetched to think the latter might be, as well?

Second was the fact that, while Interpol lacked the resources to [intervene] yet, this entire disaster had the distinction of throwing a great deal of information directly into their laps. Technology was incredible, always advancing, finding new, previously unthought ways to connect people. Perhaps waiting and assisting wasn’t so dramatic as forcing the [hand] of the Temporal Pokemon itself, but it was… kinder. Safer for everyone involved, regardless of where in time they fell.

It was just as well that Emmet had stayed his hand. Before even a month had passed, another Ultra Wormhole formed in the station.

While still difficult to weather, there had been a precedent this time. They hadn’t been dealing with a complete unknown, and the best ways to keep the public safe had been fresh in mind; the efforts were enough to avoid any undue tragedy, even when the small-scale disaster veered harshly off the projected track.

Nobody had been lost, but… something had been found, to put it loosely.

A Pokemon they’d thought, in the moment, and they hadn’t been entirely wrong. It attacked like a Pokemon and took a blow like a Pokemon– its delicate antennae suggested it was bug-adjacent, and it had responded to Archeops’s [rock type attack] like any other Pokemon weathering a super effective hit– but any attempt at containing it failed.

As it turned out, one couldn’t fight a tear in time and space, but they could certainly fight something into one.

[interpol divulges Ultra Beast info]

The wormholes didn’t stop after that. It was hardly constant, but there was nothing that could keep them from forming. There was a suggestion, at one point, that Gear Station be sidelined, that there should be an effort to convert one of the non-central stations into the main hub– and while it stung, Emmet couldn’t say he was wholly against the idea. Ultimately, it came to nothing. None of the other subway stations were equipped to handle the traffic the [central] one did, and once protocols were put into place to deal with the Ultra Wormholes, it… somehow became another factor of public transportation. Through the turnstiles, [instruction], avoid the tear in the fabric of reality, and your platform will be on the left.

In time, Emmet decided he was best suited to remaining at the ground zero that Gear Station had become, where he could assist directly whenever such a problem arose. The process of selecting and then hiring the trainers who would succeed the first Subway Bosses was a bittersweet one, but infinitely easier than the specter of [hiring] a single replacement that he would then be expected to work with.

It also gave him the time he needed to deal with Interpol.

Now that Gear Station was a hotbed of interdimensional activity, it was infinitely more valuable to researchers than it had been in the first place. Emmet himself refused to become part of the agency, preferring the freedom to ensure [safety] in his [station],

[…]

The sensor on platform 6 went off. While Emmet didn’t need to afford the monitor even a glance to know it would be all but abandoned at this hour, he still checked, just to be thorough.  As expected, it was completely deserted; the last train to Anville had departed hours prior and any stragglers had long since seen themselves out.

If there was no one to keep back, it would be a one man job. At best, it was a hazard to watch over for a few minutes before it dissipated– at worst, a sorely needed battle to cap off the day. Either one was better than sitting idle in the office, and he shrugged on his coat before departing for the soon-to-be-affected platform.

The predicted wormhole sparked to life a mere thirty seconds after he arrived on the scene, and as it established itself, he decided this was a fortunate circumstance. All of its predecessors had manifested vertically at floor level, and this one was angled down, roughly eight feet in the air. He didn’t know what it meant, if anything, but it was a plus that he would be able to observe without concern for any civilians.

For several minutes, it hung in the air, inert. Emmet was just beginning to wonder if it would remain in that state until it disappeared when it finally did light up, section by section. In rapid succession– if not simultaneously– the interdimensional countdown hit zero, the mouth of the [wormhole?] crackled with electricity, there was a heavy thud, and the tear immediately resealed itself.

Blinking the spots from his eyes, Emmet’s attention strayed from the [?] to the site of impact.

Only then did he draw nearer, kneeling next to the dark shape that the wormhole had spat out. One hand idled just shy of making contact.

Beneath it, there was a heavy exhalation. Irritated? Frustrated?

…scared?

Not hurt– not right this moment, anyway. That was good. That was– fantastic.

He laid his hand down on what he was reasonably sure was a shoulder– on what was a shoulder on him, at least– and was rewarded with a startled look upward. Without quite meaning to, he felt his smile shift; not his widest or most dramatic, but something small and genuine.

Ingo didn’t fight it as Emmet helped him up, too busy watching with wide, searching eyes. For all that Emmet knew the effects Ultra Wormholes wreaked, he would be hard pressed to call that expression uncomprehending; confused, yes– maybe even disbelieving– but there was a measure of [comprehension] mixed in that he never could have anticipated.

In so many other ways, Ingo had already proven to be the outlier among fallers. So then maybe…?

Slowly, he raised a hand up. Settled it along the edge of Emmet’s jaw. Whether by accident or design, a thumb brushed the corner of his mouth. When Emmet mirrored the gesture, Ingo’s expression flickered, lips somehow [flickering] up into the very same smile.

It was a very, very long time before either of them moved from that spot.