The Ultra Deep Sea is a truly dreadful place, and this is a truly dreadful conflict.

That's what she must be thinking right now. Or at least, that's what you imagine she must be thinking. You can't really be sure, given you're not nestled into the curves of her brain like some kind of insidiously evolved Wurmple. But, though you don't know, you're nevertheless confident in your guess. You're guessing you were "lucky" to avoid most of the conflict, what with your cosy position in that boring, boring tunnel. But you didn't come here to wait and watch. No, you came here to party, and party you will.

You spied them from afar and up high, that sorry lot. A load of beaten and bruised scrubs who washed out of the battlefields, and the one woman watching over them. Well, the one woman and her Salamence, standing stalwart and vigilant, like some guardian god of the olden days. No chance you'd be able to take that thing in a straight fight, but when have you ever fought fair?

Ducking down back behind the rocky outcrop, you silently release Doublade from it's Pokeball. The twin swords hang in the air, sheathed faces staring blankly at you, awaiting orders. Despite the gulf between her and her prospective prey, she's uniquely equipped to handle this situation, and handle it she will.

"Shadow Sneak."

With but two murmured words, the spectre obliges, its shadow stirring, before stretching outward. But though the blades were still, they were not inactive. No, her shadow was skulking along where the light didn't shine, getting closer and closer to the woman and her dragon, brimming with killing intent. If you were a more romantic type, you might've cared for the florid fairytale imagery of such, the sword slaying the dragon. But you don't much care for imagery, so much as you're interested in witnessing it for yourself. Salamence might have been impressive, but how impressive would it be once it had its wings clipped? After Doublade had finished its work, all those scars it bore like medals would seem like little more than novelty pins and badges.

The shadow continued to inch closer, its presence announced only by the shifting shadow and a sudden chill that might've ran down one's spine, as though a cold wind had just blown across their neck...

---

freya morningstar

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

You notice it a few seconds after you've lit your cigarette. Footsteps, quick but inconsistent, echoing along right ahead of you. Part of you instinctively knows what that means. Nobody rushes like without a reason, whether it's born of determination or desperation. Either way, you're well aware of what comes next. The corners of your lips curve into a grin as your hand settles near your waist, three fingertips resting on the top of three Pokeballs. The finally time to get things going.

It takes a bit, but sure enough, your opponent finally arrives, and they look they've been through the ringer. Cuts and bruises mark his skin like a document of his trials and tribulations. Evidently, whoever was ahead of you did a good job roughing him up, but not a good enough job to stop him. A smarter man might've cursed the incompetence of his allies, but you? You're ecstatic. After all, if it wasn't for them letting this one slip, you wouldn't get to stretch your legs, would you? Neither of you even need to exchange words. You're both well aware of what has to happen. The only difference is he chooses to waste his words, while you save your breath. After all, you need it to enjoy the smoke in your lungs.

As he reaches for his Pokeball, so too do you tear yours free from its holster, throwing it forward to release the Pokemon inside. It's a sight akin to the quickdraw of an old Western, but really, that is too fanciful an approximation. No, the split second difference between reactions matters little between what will come next.

"Showtime, Toxtricity."

In a flash of eye-searing red, your partner in crime appears from nothing, accompanied by the crackle of lightning and the dripping of toxins. Normally, you'd take a moment to soak it in, but you barely have a second to think before a sandstorm surges forth, brought about by the Pokemon of your foe - Tyranitar, hm? Not a bad choice, not at all. You might've even called it good, if all the dust it kicked up hadn't extinguished your cigarette. Alas, it did, and thus, it'd have to pay the price.

The monster thunders forth, but Toxtricity isn't worried. No, its been in its fair share of scrapes, and it knows its way around the brawl. It might be a big powerful beast, but all that bulk will make it slower than your slim and slender punk. So long as you can abuse that difference to your advantage, then this fight might as well be over already. Case in point:

"Poison Jab!"

As Tyranitar surges forward, so too does Toxtricity. Luckily, not only is your Pokemon faster, but it has longer arms, too. Venom pools around its claw, and as soon as the two get into range of one another, the arm shoots forth, aiming to clock the dinosaur directly in its throat.

---

Michael Navidson

You were one of many who got recruited into this mission. One of a thousand grunts, plucked from their gigs and their hustles, and sent into a completely different world. Really, you're not sure why they chose you, of all people, but you won't complain. After all, how often is it that you get to visit a completely different world, utterly alien to the common sense of your own? This is the kind of thing they write critically panned acid rock albums about. This is a premium life experience. You can't ask for better than this.

Or, well, you shouldn't. It's an important distinction, but one that has to be made, because you're asking for better than this. You get to enter into a different dimension, and they immediately stick you into a cramped tunnel through an unassuming wall. No more than five minutes walk in either direction, there's a world of wonder waiting for you, and instead, you're on guard duty.

So, you squat there, in the middle of this passageway, facing the way you were told. The Pokeballs around your waist weigh down upon your belt almost as much as your mask weighs upon your face. One represents an urge, and the other represent a collar. One represents your desire to let loose and run wild, and the other is the burden of secrecy placed upon you. Loathe as you are to admit it, the latter is necessary - Shred Zeppelin can't party on to kingdom come if he's serving twenty-five to life. The former, however, is more a consequence of your surroundings. Guard duty might have been more tolerable if there was more action, more excitement, more blood-pumping and adrenaline, but there isn't anything of the sort. There's nothing going on here. You haven't even seen another Rocket operative for...

...What time even is it?

You stick your hand into your pocket, fishing out the barely-functioning device that is your phone. You tap the on button, and nothing happens. Irritated, you tap it ten more times in quick succession, and yet, it still fails to work. Out of battery? Already? Odd. It had been at 11% last time you checked. Should've been good for another hour or so, but here you are.

"Tch..."

Mumbling a curse, you stick your phone back in your pocket, and instead reach for a pack of cigarettes. You haven't seen a single person for, presumably, hours. You deserve a smoke break.

---

Michael Navidson

POSTDORMITUM SIGN-UPS

ULTRA DEEP SEA SKIRMISH

CHARACTER: Shred Zeppelin [break]
FACTION: ROCKET[break]
PARTICIPATING IN BATTLES?: Y[break]
DO YOU WANT A BATTLE LARGER THAN A 1v1?: Y[break]
PREFERRED PARTNERS?: N/A[break]
PREFERRED OPPONENTS?: N/A[break]
POKEMON TEAM (6 MAX): Toxtricity, Punk Rock; Overdrive, Poison Jab, Boomburst, Taunt, Shift Gear, Swagger[break]
Forretress, Overcoat; Zap Cannon, Mirror Shot, Magnet Rise, Natural Gift[break]
Doublade, No Guard; Iron Head, Shadow Sneak, Aerial Ace, Night Slash, Sacred Sword, Swords Dance[break]
NOTES/COMMENTS: He's here to chew bubblegum and do the job, and he's all out of bubblegum :sunglaaaaaa:[break]

Well, this was a pain in the backside, wasn't it? He was persistent, you'll give him that, but it doesn't bode well for his act. After all, isn't he a little pushy for a total stranger, asking after your Electric-types? This guy's either a real piece of work, or he's a cop, though those aren't necessarily mutually exclusive. It's by no means a guarantee, but if it looks like a pig, and it talks like a pig, and it smells like a pig...

As your handler left the van to handle things, you let out a sigh and turn on the radio, only to be greeted by the affront of Slateport FM, in the middle of some tripe song about "loving your Pokemon partner" and "Being the best in spite of the trials and tribulations you face". It's terrible bubblegum nonsense, the kind that gets stuck in your ear as easily as it gets stuck to the bottom of your shoe, or in your hair. The kind of soulless drivel that infests everywhere. Even just hearing it makes your face scrunch up as though you've bit down on something sour. You fiddle with the knobs, but the other radio stations don't fair much better. Your choices are pop music, sell-out "rock" trash, country filth, and letting the static scratch your ears until it deadens your brain.

Idly, your eye looks around the van. It's a standard Rocket vehicle, loaned out whenever a mission calls for it, and predictably, it wasn't cleaned out between this mission and the last. Your gaze settles on something heavy. There is another option...

You're sure that the Rocket Beast has his own plan, but as you open your door and step out, you don't much care for whatever strategy he has in mind. No, yours will be much quicker, and it'll get your blood pumping, too. The man is fumbling with his keys, trying to find the fob that'll open the boot. He's just managed to unlock it by the time you're behind him...

THUNK!

It's a meaty, heavy sound as the loose wrench thwacks the bystander over the back of the head. You wish it were meatier and heavier, but you've learned to pull your punches over the years, to hold back just enough to keep the brain damage to a necessary minimum for survival. As their body falls limp and slumps down against the car boot, you instinctively take a step back, scanning your surroundings for witnesses. Then, you let out a satisifed exhale, pleased with your handiwork. Yeah, this is the good stuff. This is what you're familiar with. This is what growing up with a wild soul taught you. This is right.

After taking a moment to appreciate what you've done, you turn your attention back to your boss. Doubtless, he won't be pleased that you meddled, but you're more than used to talking around uppity better-than-thou types. But, you're not heartless. No, at the very least, you'll play dumb, cede the first rebuke to him for free, let him give you a verbal lash or two for good measure. After all, if you're not going to be reprimanded, what's the point of breaking the rules?

"Alright, got him. What's next?"

---

Zev Harcourt

Well, you can't really say you're surprised. Your partner on this endeavour seems a little less than "all there", so to speak. Maybe a little too much of a fond of Oddish leaves to be present in the moment. You can't smell it on him, but you get that vibe when you look into their eyes, as though they're not really thinking about the present.

"Tch. What a shame."

Despite what you're saying, you don't really think it's a shame. After all, if he's not paying attention, that means you might be able to stiff him on the profits. Sure, you'd be happy with a 50/50 split, but if your mule is off in dreamland, then you might be able to swing 60/40, or maybe even 70/30! That's the kind of thought that really gets the blood pumping. Makes you want to get knuckle-deep into the dirt. Makes you want to get elbow deep into the rock and stone. Makes you want to fatten your wallet until you can't fit it into your pocket.

No point in waiting any longer. You eye the cave around you until you find a spot you feel good about. Yeah, this feels lucky. This feels good. So, holding your flashlight in your teeth, you grab your sledgehammer with both hands, and swing into the wall--

CRUNCH.

--And immediately regret it. You're not sure of that crunch was rock being shattered from the impact, or all of the bones in your arm being shattered by the impact. The shock is immediate, and once that fades, all you're left with is the pain. It seems like smacking rocks with a hammer isn't going to get you where you need to be. If anything, the only place it's going to get you is into ER with two broken arms. It's not doing anything worthwhile. The only thing it's doing is making you angry.

But at least you have a good outlet to bleed that building rage.

"Oi, you fffffffffffreakin' junkie smackbag! We're on a damned job here, y'know! D'you want to help, or d'you want to keep squatting about like a bum while I do all of the heavy lifting?"

---

Algernon Believe

You like to consider yourself something of a "wildcard". Unpredictable, erratic, like a lit firework, that sort of thing. It's not the sort of position that's particularly valued in modern crime organisations. Nobody actually wants a wildcard. A wildcard just causes problems and makes things difficult. Having a King and Queen is all well and good, but a "Joker of Crime"? That isn't a sweep. It's not a full house. They'd rather have a Jack. Actually, why is the Joker even in the deck if we're playing Poker?

Alright, forget the confused card game metaphor. The point is, the simpler the order, the more concise it is, the less liberties you can take with it, and the less opportunities you're given to screw it up. That is to say, "stop the car" and "open the window" are exactly the kind of orders that stifle that kind of inventive foolishness that causes problems.

In this specific case, that's more of a blessing than a curse.

You instinctively reach for a crank to open the window, but find nothing. This is one of those fancy modern automobiles, the kind that just has a button you push. Oh, those boffins and their innovations. What will they think of next? Anyway, click the switch down, aaaaaaaaaand...

"Evening, fellas. Mind helping me with my car? The engine up and died on me, and I can't get it running again."

Yeah, sure, buddy. Your car just happened to die blocking this specific route. You have half a mind to plug this guy before he can cause any more problems, but you manage to restrain your trigger finger. Sure, this guy might be a filthy pig or a rival ganger, but there's just as much chance that this is a genuine idiot, a moron who actually managed to brick his automobile in the middle of the road. You couldn't ventilate him in good conscience. Stupid people are your kith and kin. Besides, even if they're not, a dead body is a complication.

"Ah, see, well..." You begin, putting together an explanation in your head. But, again, you're sitting next to a big-timer, aren't you? Someone who has ran this type of job a hundred times over? Yeah, if this guy wants to breathe down your neck, then you're going to make him pull his weight. "I don't know, boss. Is this little stop going to interfere with the schedule? After all, we don't want to be late..."

What schedule? What are you late for? You don't know. Lying comes to you as naturally as breathing, but that doesn't mean that your lies are substantial. No, you're passing that particular problem to your superior. Come on, Beast. If you're so good, validate this rubbish excuse for an excuse. Make something into Something. Prove that you're deserving of that rank of yours. Prove that you're really as good as Shred Zeppelin. Hell, prove that you're better, if you really can.

---

Zev Harcourt

Uh oh. You've been spotted.

That's not surprising, really. You're in a meeting with dozens of people, it was inevitable that one of them would notice your existence. Still, just because you knew it could happen, doesn't mean you're happy that it did happen. Ideally, nobody would have realised you were even here, and you would've been allowed to spend a few hours mooching off their drinks without consequence. Alas, you are not a fortunate soul. No, nobody fortunate would be right here and right now. The coin tosses and dice rolls would have treated anyone fortunate far more kindly. Instead, you've ended up in a submarine, discussing topics way beyond your comprehension, trying to brew a drink that tastes suitably alcoholic.

Not that it will change the fact that nothing here is alcoholic. Really, you're banking on the placebo effect kicking in. Maybe, maybe if you make something that tastes enough like piss, it'll actually get you drunk? It's a long shot, but really, it's all you've got. But the time is up, the buzzer is ringing, and so on, and so on. You've been called to the table, to sit with the posers.

You sigh. It's a powerful sigh. Truly, a Hyper Beam of sighs. But a sigh can only be a sigh, not a Hyper Beam. So, with drink in hand, you meander over to join the meeting, glass in hand.

As you settle into your sheet, you're immediately drawn to the grotesque thing staring at you. At first, you've not even sure it's a real Pokemon. You assume it's some kind of synthetic abomination, birthed in a Rocket Laboratory. Surely, nothing born of nature could be so utterly hideous. But as you stare more at it, you feel a sense of familiarity building in your mind. It is real, isn't it? You remember seeing a beast just like it. It was the Motostoke Battle Classic 18, wasn't it? Yeah, that's right, there was that old hag of a trainer that specialised in feline-type Pokemon. Perrserkers and Liepards and all of that trash. Somehow, they placed top 16. They had one of these, didn't they? What was it called again? Uglycat? Yeah, sounds about right. It certainly is an ugly cat.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here..."

With an encore of your previou sigh, you slump down, settling a bored eyes towards the front of the room. Really, at this point, you're not even sure what they're talking about. You thought this was supposed to be about Unown, but now they're talking about dating simulators? Why is that relevant? Wasn't this meeting supposed to be important? Why are they talking about virgin activity?

Simply put, this meeting seems like a poor match for your particular skillset.

Perhaps it would have helped if you had paid attention. Instead of listening, you're too busy thinking about all the moves you could be teaching Forretress right now. Spikes, maybe? Ooh, maybe Heavy Slam. That'd be good...

---

Calpurnia Kubrick

It's a familiar situation in an unfamiliar place. You're well used to late night driving, long hours spend at the wheel, coasting down the road in the dark of the night. Slateport, though... Slateport is new. Never been there before. Still, you can't imagine it's much different to every other port town you've ever visited. The sights may change and the layouts may differ, but deep down, they're all the same. It doesn't matter if the fabric is in different shapes - All these types of modern-age cities are cut from the same cloth.

"Yeah, yeah..." You murmur under your breath, glancing to the left as you make the right turn.

You're not sure what to make of your "handler" yet. You know that they outrank you, and frankly, that's reason enough for you to dislike him on sheer principle alone. The only reason the high and mighty come to meet with the low and meek are because they have an agenda, an angle they want to push, a goal they want to fulfill. He's not here out of the goodness of his heart. He's not here because of some bond of brotherhood. He's here to inspect your performance, like an over-eager middle manager with too much time on his hands. He's here because he wants to know if you can actually do your job. He wants to know that you're not a colossal screw-up that can't be trusted with important work. That's rough for you, because you are a colossal screw-up who can't be trusted with important work. But, he doesn't know that yet, and if today goes well, he'll be kept in the dark, and you'll be kept in the good graces of your bosses.

Besides, this isn't the worst work you could be doing right now. All things considered, lugging around cages full of Woopers and Lechonks is easy compared to some of the dirty work you've done. All you have to do is--

Uh oh. Problem sighting. There's something ahead, blocking the road you've just turned into. Is it a car? A van? Criminal? Police? It's hard to tell. The lights on this street aren't working, the bulbs in the streetlamps devoid of light, and you get the feeling that isn't a coincidence. You push down on the brakes, but you don't stop fully. No, the slow drift will make a quick getaway easier, if it comes to that.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." A swear rolls along your tongue, but you flick it to the back of your throat. No point cursing just yet. No, there's no guarantee you're in trouble yet. You glance over to your accomplice as you continue to creep forward, ever closer to the roadblock, the range of options narrowing with every second. If it was up to you, you'd already be speeding away. But, it's not up to you, is it? No, you're not top dog right now, and if he's so much better than you, then he'll know what to do here. "Orders, boss...?"

Aha. Found one! See, that wasn't so hard, was it?

You pull your sunglasses down a little, looking at this prospective partner with naked eyes. Heavy looking son-of-a-gun, isn't she? Or, would that be daughter-of-a-gun? Either way, the point is she looks like she weighs a ton. If you dropped her from a great height, she'd probably leave a crater in the ground. Obviously, heavy doesn't necessarily equate to strong, but they do seem like the strong sort, at the very least. Able to hold their own in a scrap, might not hit hard, but can take a hard hit. A good sort of woman to have around.

Forretress, is it? Very well. Come join the never-ending party. Do great things, and get yourself carved into the immortal legend of Shred Zeppelin. Pull your weight, and I'm sure you'll be remembered fondly by the adoring masses.

She's just hanging there, idly attached to a tree trunk, doing nothing. Your hand reaches into the pocket of your jacket, and fishes out a single Pokeball. Stationary target, not moving, not even so much as a slight gust that might knock the ball off of its trajectory. Really, the only person who can screw this up for you now, is you.

So, after taking up a stance and miming a few practices throws, you finally get into a rhythm, and make your throw.

Right, you've been in Hoenn long enough now. You've gotten your bearings, gotten familiar with the scenes and the sights. No point waiting any longer. Step one to becoming Pokemon Champion is getting more than three pokemon. Step two... Well, you're not sure what step two is yet, but you don't have to worry about that yet. After all, you're still on step one. That's all you need to think about now.

Step one. That's that. Catching a Pokemon. How hard can that be? You've done it before. Once you even did it while drunk. How hard can it be to do it sober?

So, enough chit-chat. let's see what you can find lurking around these parts...

Loathe as you are to admit it, your aimless and whimsical lifestyle doesn't pay for itself. What's that saying about expensive tastes and bad habits? Or was it bad taste and expensive habits? You can't much remember. First time you heard it, your brain was too busy melting out of your ears to really appreciate it. The point is, booze and cigarettes don't come cheap, and you have a mighty need for both.

Luckily, the dirt is full of shiny rocks that people are willing to shell out good money for. You're not sure why, but you're not going to look that gift Ponyta in the mouth. All you need to know is that they're just lying there, free, and the only thing stopping you from taking them is the ever-present threat of getting crushed to dead by a cave-in.

But, when did the idea of a painful, slow, agonising death ever harsh your vibe?

So, here you are, walking into a dodgy-looking cave with a torch in one hand, and a sledgehammer in the other. You're not intending to leave without your pockets full and your wallet fuller. Still, you're only human, and you can only carry so much. That's why you're brought along another pair of hands. Sure, you'll have to split the profits, but if all goes well, you'll still end up making more than you would alone. Speaking of which...

"See anything shiny, bruv?"