“You are definitely not allowed here.” Emmet said, blunt as ever.

True as that may have been, he didn’t need to say it to the Pokemon’s face.

The Pokemon in question stared down at them with two-toned eyes and blinked, unruffled by the declaration; it stepped forward with one gold-tipped hoof, then the other, intent on the pair of them as it strode nearer.

[…]

“I… suppose the rule states that a trainer can’t have a legendary Pokemon on their team, not that a legendary Pokemon itself can’t battle.”

“Ah.” Emmet said, all flat amusement, “The Air Bune loophole. What a cultured Pokemon.”

[…]

Emmet didn’t react at first, so used to seeing Pokemon charging his direction in a train car that, for just a second, he forgot there was no active Pokemon on his side of the field. It would have been a horrible mistake if Ingo hadn’t already thrown an arm around him and pulled the both of them to the side, turning his back just in time to clear the Pokemon’s path.

Coincidentally, it was this exact motion that [doomed him]. As soon as it drew even with them, the Pokemon seized the collar of his coat in its jaws and kept galloping, tearing the two apart. Emmet had just enough time to lunge forward, but not enough to catch his brother’s outstretched hand.

Before his foot met the floor, they were gone, and he was left alone in an [idk] car.

—

The security footage was simultaneously informative and utterly unhelpful. It showed the Pokemon appear out nowhere on the car prior to theirs and then promptly admit itself through the door. Normally, the ensuing battle would have been fascinating, but right now, Emmet couldn’t care less– he reviewed it out of obligation, but was patiently waiting for the battle’s end.

He was aware of the depot agents congregating around, leaning closer than he’d prefer in order to parse what was happening onscreen. For now, he let them. Uncomfortable as it may have been, he’d appreciate any confirmation that he wasn’t actually seeing things.

Playback showed the Pokemon wind up and charge; Emmet saw himself stand dumbly in its path until Ingo dragged him away, and then watched– a seething, passive observer– as it stole his brother. The angle didn’t offer any new information. It displayed his [lunge] forward, but not the way their hands had just barely grazed each other as the Pokemon fled into a golden light.

This perspective was, however, easier to watch. The content was still terrible, there was no denying that, but the cameras were mounted in such a way that Ingo’s likeness was recorded from the back. When Emmet [reviewed] it, the panic in his twin’s eyes was a product of his memory and nothing more.

“You– you battled that?” Cameron asked, incredulous.

“Boss Emmet,” Ramses began slowly, on his other side, “Where’s Boss Ingo?”

Emmet was unable to formulate a response, so he didn’t. Instead, he gave a low, frustrated growl.

“Okay.” Said Cloud from further back, “Okay. We– we’ve gotta call someone, right? Who would know what that…? Lenora? Professor Juniper?”

Isadore, eyes fixed on the frozen screen, said nothing and pulled Cameron back.

Though he was grateful for the breathing room, Emmet couldn’t say as much; in one fluid motion, he rose from his chair and strode out of the security office. It was unheard of for one– let alone both– of the Subway Masters to depart from Gear Station unscheduled. Emmet couldn’t find it in himself to care, right now; willingly or not, Ingo had set the precedent, and he’d always looked to his older brother for social cues.

[…]

When he came back, Cameron was in the chair, vacillating between studying the screen and sketching something out on a stray piece of paper. Isadore stood next to him, scrolling through his phone as he tried to figure out what they were looking at. Normally, Emmet would take issue with the distractions. Not today.

“Emmet,” Elesa said slowly, looking at the frame Cameron had decided to use as a reference; it showed the Pokemon in something approaching profile, facing off against [pokemon], “What’s going on here?”

Tersely, he signaled to Cameron, who looked up from his misshapen quadruped and obediently let the footage play out

—

The news got out within three days.

Not the news of Ingo’s abduction, since Emmet had recruited anyone who would listen for three consecutive seconds in that regard– no, somehow, the security footage leaked, and the reception was unfathomable.

Gear Station had to be shut down within the hour; too many people were crowding around, ignoring safety guidelines and impeding the ongoing investigation. Emmet had been forced to use his entire team and the rogue Chandelure to ensure that no civilians remained on the premises, and even then, people found creative ways to break and enter.

—

And suddenly, there was something new, something different.

The image was of tightly packed dirt, a white stripe visible on the very edge. Centered at the bottom were a pair of [old]-looking shoes.

“–sn’t recording last time, either. I just don’t get it.” There was an exasperated sigh, “You got it to work– no chance you remember how, is there?” The speaker hissed in a sudden breath, the only noise to fill the silence for a moment.

“I shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“Yeah there is. I know it bothers you, and I was being insensitive.”

“I’m not so easily offended, Miss Akari; the circumstances are nonstandard, and I’m fully aware that it wasn’t your intention.”

The first speaker made a small noise of dissent. The second seemed to take that as a cue to intervene.

“Come on, now, let’s find the source of this malfunction. Perhaps we missed something early on that’s preventing your device from [idk]; you can’t leave the station if your equipment isn’t up to code. Remember, safety f-”

—

The video was focused on a Pokemon, bipedal with light fur and two claws on either paw. It was sitting on something dark– someone’s lap, based on the fact that there were hands holding onto either set of claws, swaying them side to side the way one might play with an infant.

When the feed began, a man’s voice was already speaking, an indulgent sing-song as he moved the Pokemon’s claws.

“–round the lum berry bush the Aipom chased the Sneasel, the Aipom thought ‘twas all in good fun and–” The hands guided the claws toward one another, clacking them gently together, “–bop goes the Sneasel.”

He stopped shortly thereafter, posture shifting to turn toward the person holding the camera, incidentally showing off the carved wooden band on his wrist. As they spoke, it became immediately obvious it was the same pair from before.

Briefly, they talked about a Pokedex, and then, with the same air of entertainment he’d used on the Pokemon, the man said said, “I see. And this specific aspect of raising Sneasel was vital to your research, was it?”

There was a long silence, and then a resolute, “Yes.”

He chuckled. “Well, if you’ve got what you came for, I won’t keep you any longer– unless you’d also like to bone up on the mechanics of claw sharpening.”

Though it was phrased like the answer was an obvious no, his tone suggested that it was a legitimate offer. The girl holding the camera hummed in consideration.

“They do the–” She must have gestured off-screen, because she didn’t elaborate further, and the camera bounced with an unseen motion, turning the Pokemon into a pale blur before the focus settled on the ground. “With rocks, right? That’d be good to see, but I’ve gotta run to the Fabled Spring before nightfall. I’ve been waiting forever for a full moon, and figured I’d camp out ahead of time, just so I don’t miss any Clefairy.”

“Ah, you’re wise to stay on schedule, then. Have a safe trip.”

“See ya!”

There was the dizzying blur and buffeted noise of a camera being moved quickly and carelessly, and, after a few seconds, it settled on the girl’s shoes as she walked, presumably looking down at her device.

“Oh shit.” She said, the second word muffled as she clapped a hand over her mouth, “Itwas recording, wasn’t it? That’s gonna be embarrassing.”

She stopped and turned at the waist, but the visuals stayed consistent as she took a hissing breath, “Welp. Sorry, Ingo.”

—

The camera adjusted as the interior lighting gave way to the sun, and, excited, she gasped, “Oh! Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Slowly, she crept across the dirt roadway, keeping her quarry onscreen. Her movements didn’t go entirely unnoticed– the man in red from before kept a wary eye on her– but she kept herself hidden where it counted, which was, admittedly, impressive; the main street was quiet enough that the conversation about ‘plump beans’ registered even from this far away.

Shifting the device to her non-dominant hand, Dawn presumably readied her ammo in one hand and took aim.

Their interaction seemed to end just a beat too soon– the dark-clothed man tipped his hat and began to turn– and Dawn panicked. The blur of a snowball [verb] less than a hand’s width from his face, and, running on instinct, he whirled around and boomed, “EMMET!”

The phone clattered to the ground, camera pointing up to where Dawn had abandoned it in an effort to protect her ears. An incredible silence settled over the street. It was broken as, somewhere in the near distance, a Kricketune cried.

As she tested the waters– uncovering first her right ear, then her left– Dawn lit up. “Who!?”

There was an awkward cough from off-screen, followed by a rough-sounding, “My apologies, Mister Choy.” and footsteps drawing nearer.

“Miss Akari, […], but you have to understand that throwing objects at passerby is a major safety violation.”

“Uh, sure. Won’t happen again, Ingo, promise.” Dawn said, crossing her heart as if to emphasize her sincerity. As soon as she’d completed the gesture, she wasted no time in launching into, “Who’s Emmet?”

There was a brief pause, “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what you said when you were busy using Uproar! Do you think they were your partner? Or the man who likes winning?”

“Human.” He said instantly, “He’s human. He’s my…he’s…”

He broke off with a small, pained sound. At the same time, Dawn reached over, past the camera’s field of vision, and seemed to remember its presence; a flash of a grimace stole over her face and she gingerly set a foot over the lens.

“I apologize for my unscheduled departure, but please excuse me.”

After a second, Dawn removed her shoe from the camera. The last thing it picked up before she [picked it up] and stopped the recording was her worried expression.

—

The picture was composed, primarily, of lavender fur. A dozen light purple bodies sprawled out all over the place, varying from [size] to something that could be cupped in the palm of a hand. The Pokemon were unmistakably Sneasel, but no Sneasel like any on record, prior to the Bop Goes the Sneasel video; it was almost like they’d been inverted, the [dark] fur turned light and white claws stained dark. There was another creature at the top, but that was… complicated.

Because the odd Sneasel were sleeping on a person.

From the waist up, he was all pale colors– a light pink tunic, fair skin, silver hair tied back in a lopsided bun that one baby had sleepily sunk its claws into– but there was a dark splotch to his side, teeming with [baby] Sneasel. He had one arm wrapped around it, forming a dip so the [babies] couldn’t simply roll out of their bed.

Then there was the presumed Mama Sneasel. Situated at the top of the picture, she was letting the man’s head rest against her body, curled to help contain her young as they dozed on the lone human. Her eyes were closed, head turned to tuck her face against the man’s neck and hands with three massive, razor sharp claws laying lazily on his chest.

The photo was posted alongside two words: For Emmet.

Ten minutes later, there was a continuation. The Pokemon at the top– not a Sneasel at all, given the size discrepancy and key physiological differences– was awake this time, her posture slightly different. She’d moved to lay her head on one arm, the other drawn up, idly working through a visible tangle in the man’s hair. The man himself was little better than asleep, but his eyes were cracked open and looking in her general direction. He seemed unbothered by the claw so close to his face.

This, too, was accompanied by a caption.

Wady Sneaswer wuvs her warden.

That would have been the end of it, but it was also followed by another picture– a return to the candid snapshot style that had begun the entire [?]. Instead of a head-on shot of a horizontal surface, the picture seemed to depict the room itself, from the perspective of someone standing mostly-upright. The large not-Sneasel– ‘Wady Sneaswer’– was propped up on one elbow watching amusedly as the man shot upright, one wide-eyed Sneasel clutching his hair. In the foreground, Dawn fled, a blurry grin visible on her face.

The feed went silent.

—

“Akari has been training a Rotom recently.” Ingo said from behind the device, conversational. “It has an interesting habit of changing its form in accordance to the… items she’s obtained from the Ginkgo Guild. I seem to remember that they have a function, but for the life of me, I couldn’t begin to guess at what they are.”

He seemed to be climbing a rocky incline as he spoke, giving a Bronzong a wide, respectful margin as he crossed its path. As he neared the top, he hesitated, distracted.

“It appears Melli is attending to duties elsewhere today.” He murmured. It still echoed back at him. “I mean no disrespect, but perhaps that… makes this simpler.”

“You see, my goal is to observe the Pokemon in its base form. Lady Sneasler’s children have caught the ire of a Rotom in the past, which led me to believe it was a ghost Pokemon– it’s become quite clear, however, that this is not the case for its altered shapes. […]”

[…]

“Hey, wait!”

There was a brief scuffle and a high, electric snicker, followed by the phone all but flying out of its owner’s grasp. A hand passed by the lens, scrambling to grab the device.

“This was not at all what I intended! Sir or madam, I must insist that you return that at once.”

[it devolves into him chasing the Rotom for awhile. Eventually he sics Gliscor on it and battles the phone, which comes out unscathed. The racket catches Melli’s attention, however, and he complains out-of-shot.]

Reaching to tilt the brim of his hat down, Ingo dropped the hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Sinnoh, grant me patience.” He successfully whispered, and stooped down to retrieve the phone.

[…]

[username]: If Sinnoh gave him strength, Melli would be dead.

—-

“So I got to the Highlands this morning–” Dawn puffed, haphazardly recording a craggy incline full of Bronzor as she ran, “– and the torches in Wayward Cave were gone. Again. That’s– that’s a thing. That’s been going on for awhile.”

She stopped talking for a moment, catching her breath and swiftly maneuvering around what looked like a series of grave markers.

“Melli takes them down and– hff– Ingo has to put them back up. But then! I heard! The word ‘safety’! From all the way down in the Bolderoll Ravine!” She took a gasping breath, unwilling to sacrifice her speed, and continued, “And if Melli’s about to get his ass kicked, I can’t miss it. I can’t. Hooo. Okay. Just a little farther– an– anyway people in our time like battles, yeah? I like them. Ingo likes them. And if this is– hff– really happening, I wanna be able to relive it later.”

[…]

“With all due respect,” Ingo said, in tones that subtly suggested the amount due was, in fact, none, “I would vastly prefer we didn’t fight over this. It seems to me that concessions can be made on both our parts; I’m certain I’ve seen Pokemon cohabitate with humans in tunnels far more active than the ones here.”

[,,,]

“That Earthq– Earth Power Gliscor used! I’ve seen that before– I didn’t know Pokemon in Hisui could learn it, though!”

There was a low, sleepy “Scorrrr” from the side, and a swishing tail crossed the lens’s path as it filmed a Bronzor giving their backs a dirty look.

“You have? Perhaps that’s where I’m getting it from, then. For some time now, I’ve had the strangest feeling that, once mastered, Earth Power should have a wider range of effect, but none of the Pokemon I’ve observed have demonstrated such an attack. We’ve been working on this for quite some time.” There was a break for a gleeful chirp, and the glimpses of Gliscor’s tail were replaced by a leathery wing as it swooped down. It obstructed a good third of the frame. “Ah, time to roost, is it? Rest well, you’ve earned your [break].”

[…]

Gear Station Official: Of course that’s what he remembers. If Hisuian Gliscor have Mold Breaker, I will not be held accountable for my actions.