Aaah, Mount Pyre. This place really is like nature's trash can. You can bury whatever you want here, and nobody is going to find it, lest they end up shovelling through the ash and bones of people's precious pets. You've got plenty of trash stashed around here, and lucky for them, he'd already scouted out a nice little patch of mud perfectly fit for this little five-foot-seven motherfucker. Well, provided there aren't any journo bodies in there already. You didn't think to check, but worst comes to worst, they can all share a bed in the dirt.

"Little further up." You idly mutter, shuffling along as you carry your half of the body. "It's under one of those trees with the big three-pointy leaves. I marked it with a big rock. Can't miss it."

Granted, you'd been hoping to plant a few berries there, start a garden, sell a few berries as a side hustle, but it's probably better to be realistic about your expectations. You're far too lazy to drag yourself all the way out here every few days to water your plants. Better to just dump a cadaver here, bish bash bosh, and be done with it.

"A lookout, a lookout, a lookout..." You slow for a second, momentarily moving your hand to check on your current selection of Pokeballs and Pokemon. Toxtricity? No, too loud... Maybe Skeledirge? No, too bright... Galarian Slowbro, no, too stupid... Fraxture, no, too bitey... Quagsire, no, absolutely not, no chance in hell whatsoever, you'd sooner let a Wailord take watch... Hm, Golurk? Big, strong, still, emotionless, unassuming... Fuck it, he'll do. "Yeah, I got one. I'll pull him out when we get there."

Lucky for you, you're almost there. Just up the slope, over a rough patch of shrubbery, and sure enough...

---

Zev Harcourt

Once you arrive, you wait for Zev to lower his half of the body, before unceremoniously dropping your half into the dirt. Man, who knew lugging corpses around would be such hard work? You've got a nasty cramp in your shoulder, or maybe you pulled something, or maybe your muscles are just rebelling after years and years of mistreatment. You're not sure what, but either which way, you're more than glad to take a few minutes off and let the Pokemon do the heavy lifting.

Speaking of which, you take this opportunity to release Golurk from his Pokeball, the titanic construct stepping out from the flash of red and into the flickering glow of the purple. Granted, they're a little bigger than you'd like for a job as discreet as this, but you can't really be picky when it comes to lookouts. Besides, they're a ghost in a graveyard, so it's not like they're suspicious.

At least, you think they're a ghost. They don't really look like it to you, but hey, what do you know?

"Alright bud, keep watch." You reach up to slap the stone shoulder of your watchman twice, but given how tall they are, you just end up awkwardly patting his back twice instead. "If you spot anything, give us a signal, yeah?"

"AFFIRMATIVE." The synthetic rasp responds. Though, depending on who's listening, it might sound a little more like "GOLURK."

So, that's that. Golurk on watch, Chandelure illuminating the site, and Nidoking digging. Not a bad little setup. If only you could automate all the hard tasks in your life like this.

"Don't mind if I do." You nod, plucking any cigarette in particular from the pack and putting it in its rightful place between your fingers. "Got a light?"

---

Zev Harcourt

Wordlessly, you allow your cigarette to be lit by the Chandelure. Truly, having Pokemon perform such menial tasks on your behalf was the height of luxury, especially when that Pokemon was a sentient chandelier. Really, it was just nice to have around. Really brought some sophistication to this miserable little graveyard in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you should get one, too? It'd really spruce up your "apartment", and seeing as how you haven't had electricity for a good few weeks now, a light source wouldn't be bad, either.

Alas, you don't have the luxury of getting lost in your fantasies and/or delusions of grandeur, as you're pulled back to reality by a bump in the night. Immediately after that, Zev orders you to check it out, presumably because he trusts in your competency as a trainer and in the strength of your Golurk, and definitely not because he outranks you and doesn't want to walk back down the hill. Either way, it's up to you.

"Got it. Be back in five."

With a noncommittal wave of your hand, you start to creep towards the source of the noise, with Golurk following close behind. All things considered, you're not too worried about what you might find. More likely than not, it's just some teenage vandals pissing on graves, or a few rowdy Gastly playing tricks on each other. Golurk can handle any of the latter, and as for the former, you've beaten the shit out of your fair share of teenagers, so really, this should be a piece of cake.

Reaching the crest of the hill, you look down and see a sight that is neither teenager or Gastly. However, neither is it police officer or Dusknoir. No, you can't say you really expected this kind of problem, but like it or not, it is a problem.

"Worm?"

It's an Orthworm, bigger than the usual, but not too big, squirming about at the bottom of the hill. Of course, you'd think that wouldn't be a problem, right? It's basically just a big maggot wriggling about in a massive graveyard. Except, well, instead of just festering inside a rotting corpse like a normal person - er, well, like a normal worm - this one seems more content to dig the bodies up and display them freely above ground. You can count no less than seven skeletons strewn about, and its in the process of uncovering an eighth, as though he were howard slayte digging up the fossils of ancient Pokemon, except this worm was a lot more likeable.

Now admittedly, you're no expert in crime scene investigation, but if that worm happened to dig up the body of the journalist you were trying to hide, then, well...

"...Y'know what? This seems like a gray area." You watch the scene unfold with a mixture of confusion, irritation, and amusement. You're not sure what to make of it, you're annoyed that it's making an easy job difficult, but at the same time, it's also pretty funny to watch this silly guy frolick about without a care in the world. Nevertheless, you take a long drag of your cigarette, before looking back directly at Zev. "I'm calling in a second opinion. What do you make of... This?"

---

Zev Harcourt

Yeah, you guess you don't really need to mess with the Orthworm, do you? He's just a guy, having a lovely time, without a care in the world. He's not malicious, he's just blissfully ignorant. Does he even know what crime is? Like, conceptually? Could his little arthropod brain possibly comprehend the idea of murder, or is he unburdened by such sin?

All of that is to say, it's better to just leave well enough alone. Even if you dealt with Orthworm, it was possible some other prankster or scavenger or similar ne'er-do-well would come around and uncover this dirty little secret. So, better to deface and devalue the body, leaving it both unrecognisable to medical examination and inedible as carrion. See, it's this kind of creative, out-of-the-box, and slightly unsettling problem solving that got Zev where he was today. Maybe one day, you'll achieve this same level of morally disturbed problem solving, but until that day, you'll just have to content yourself with following orders.

So, time to burn this body.

"Bitchin'."

No. You are performing the world's most scuffed cremation at the dead of night in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing bitchin' about this in any way, shape, or form.

That aside, you leave Golurk to keep watch of the Orthworm, heading back to pick up your half of the body, and dropping it into the shallow grave below. You'll be glad to be rid of it, because Arceus wept, your arms are sore from lugging it around. Who knew that people were heavier dead than when they were alive? You cast one last glance down to the soon-to-be-ashes, before your gaze shifts over to Chandelure.

"So, what's the play here, chief? Overheat? Fire Blast? Heat Wave?"

---

Zev Harcourt

From the shallow grave emerged a great pillar of burning violet, a complete and utter incineration of the victim. Within that inferno, any evidence that they had ever been murdered was erased by the flames, chains broken and ties severed. All that remained was a burnt and blackened body, a stain of a silhouette amidst the burning brilliance, meaningless to society.

It's kind of beautiful, in a macabre sort of way. Of course, you're not much one for beauty, are you? And as you watch his impassive act of destruction, you get the sense he isn't, either.

Then again, what do you know? As much as you like to think you're pals, you barely even know the guy. Not in the same way you know howard slayte or Michael Navidson. When you really think about it, how much do you really know Zev Harcourt? As the inferno begins to fade down to embers and wisps, you take a moment to think about it: He's a Rocket Beast, which you've gathered makes him someone you're obligated to respect. Despite that, there's something about the way he carries himself that separates him from his ilk, the sort that like to dresses in five-figure outfits while gossiping about their corporate acquisitions and their celebrity spouses and their supposedly godlik" powers. But what is that "something", exactly? No matter how hard you stroke your chin or crease your forehead, you can't seem to put your finger on it.

And then, an opportunity to poke the Ursaring presents itself. Drinks with the boys? The perfect time to ask questions that'll assuredly turn his tolerance of you into disdain? The corners of your lips curve up into a barely-perceptible smile. This can only go well.

"Sure thing, boss."

---

Zev Harcourt