BEACH HOUSE BASHING

Uh... My hero? Sénon Game

Nikita Petrovski.

The man, the myth, the legend.

Born out of never-melt found in a billion year old glacier and sculpted into the form of the demi-god Herakles by the hand of a Master Sculptor, the number of tall tales surrounding the bear of a man were such one was just forced to believe at least a few had to be true.

Proudly sporting his signature void black, bushy eyebrows and perfectly untrimmed mustache and beard, the large man walked around the perimeter of the shack with the confidence a man who belonged. He was not 'casing' the building, he was taking a walk around his neighborhood.

Repeatedly.

Around the same building.

Shut up.

His large, heavy parka scarcely fluttered against the sea breeze of Slateport's nearby beaches, utterly out of place in the tropical setting, yet the man looked cool as a cucumber as he confidently stomped about...

Until he heard a noise.

"Who goes zerrre?" The man booms in a thick, authentic sounding accent, spotting the intruder within seconds.

Only guy wearing a leather jacket and a bright red piece of metal on his head for miles.

"Slateporrrt's Komic-Kon is in Upper Distrrricts, Lad."

This was the second time Nikita had to deal with one of Hoenn's self-appointed vigilantes.

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BEACH HOUSE BASHING

Uh... My hero? Sénon Game

Nikita didn't know who he was looking at, but he knew what he was looking at. Hoenn had a higher than average amount of masked vigilantes running about its streets dishing out lawless justice...

And Nikita couldn't say he disagreed- so long as they had the skills and judgement (and age) to carry out their justice.

So, he wasn't immediately dismissive of the man before him- he was, however, aprehensive.

Because although he couldn't look at his face and know that he was drunk, he certainly had all the symptoms of a man that was damn drunk.

As they locked gazes, however...

[!]

He realized that actually, he did know whom he was looking at.

Or at least, he knew the mask he was looking at. Only gods knew if the man behind it was the real deal, or a drunk Comic-Con cosplayer that had gotten way lost.

"... I suppose zat is possible. Karrry on." The man of ice politely accepted the other's explanation, before turning on his heel back to the building.

He already knew what the criminals looked like- and this man's heroic build did not match any of theirs. So, ignoring the down in his luck hero, the giant of a man tried to continue 'casing' the building... before unceremoniously marching up to the beach shack's door and kicking it down.

The insides were as simple as the shack looked from the outside, with precious little furniture. Wood made the entirety of the floors, with a single, small carpet tucked at the center of the shack. A single table and several surrounding chairs were laid above said carpet, a messy deck of playing cards upon its surface. A portable stove and some dirty dishes were all about.

Nikita narrowed his eyes, before marching into the shack that obviously didn't belong to him...

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BEACH HOUSE BASHING

Uh... My hero? Sénon Game

Nikita paid the retching man no mind as he wandered into the wooden shack, his trained eye looking over its musty, messy interior with growing distaste.

"It seems zey've been busy." The man muttered to himself as he came to stand before the table- before he promptly kicked it aside, it shattering against the wall as the man crouched down and grasped the carpet underneath.

with a sweep of his hand, the heavy fabric and all the chairs set atop it were flung aside, wood rattling across the floors as a heavy cloud of dust was kicked up.

The large man remained undisturbed, his eyes on the floor. His leg reeled back before it swung, the shrill sound of steel heel boots crashing onto rusted iron filling the air.

A padlock had been shattered to pieces. Sinking down to his knees, the man proceeded to yank up a wooden tile. It had been a trap door.

"Amateurz." The man said as he rose to his feet, before he began to descend into the floors below, his voice echoing one last time.

"Seems like anyone kan bekome rrrocket zese days."

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BEACH HOUSE BASHING

Uh... My hero? Sénon Game

What awaited him below was... a shady basement.

Simple enough, with some high-tech crates and rows of shelves packed with evenly spread pokeballs. The ball didn't look to have been down there for long- there wasn't any considerable amount of dust on any surface, really...

Grabbing a scuffed, dirty looking ball, he noted the ID numbers etched upon its black band remained intact, before casually opening it up, revealing an unconscious Vulpix, still sporting the injuries that had fainted it and breathing shakily.

A simple Vulpix, injured within an inch of its life. Not exactly the sort of cargo that could endure the lengthy process of contraband.

He went through 9 more pokeballs just to be certain; all pokemon inside, relatively 'rare' pokemon, in that they were not generally regarded as 'native' to the Hoenn region's pokedex, in varying states of injury, but all unconscious. All Relatively recent additions...

But things weren't adding up. This was not on the level of what he had been looking for. These were not rare enough... And this was much too easy to find.

"I suppose not all arrre amateurrrs." He said with a hum. "But zey arrre all still inkompetent buffoons."

He produced a pokeball- and a Rotom was summoned from it.

"Boris." He said. "Find zeirrr secrrrets."

'Boris' grinned.

---

Several minutes later, the man, myth and legend, Nikita, exited the basement with a scowl.

There had been another, slightly larger warehouse underneath the basement, with taller shelves and rarer, more powerful, but still not too 'exotic' pokemon.

And yet, still not enough.

So he and Boris had searched deeper, until the Rotom found what seemed to be a material he couldn't just... phase through. That complicated things...

But also proved interesting enough that they decided to search around the thing. There had to be an entrance somewhere, yes...?

Boris had managed to find some electric wiring to sneak in the old fashioned way- but what he had found inside was... a worryingly large, multi-leveled warehouse.

With quite a few rockets. Which wasn't worrying in and of itself- the truly worrying part was them calling for back up, or worse yet, evaquating the premises should a large force of leaguers roll up on their doorstep. Boris had seen quite a few ghost and psychic type pokemon, after all, as as what seemed escape routes the Rotom hadn't been able to map out yet.

Either way, this needed to be done quick, stealthily, and with few numbers. He suspected the shack was not an entrance, but one of many backdoor exits in the City now...

As he stepped out of the shack, he noted the cosplayer was still there, turned away from him in a way that prevented him from seeing the man's face.

And blowing chunks in the sand. Charming.

"..." As Gwyar stared somewhat judgmentally, a small lightbulb flashed to life in the back of his mind... "... Say, good sirrr. Might you perrrhaps be notorrrious anti-RRRocket vigilante, Crrrimsen? Orrr just a drrrunk kosplayer who's lost his vay to Slate-Kon?"

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BEACH HOUSE BASHING

Uh... My hero? Sénon Game

And upon seeing just who it was behind the mask... Nikita believed him, and could only smile.

Even better than a Vigilante- a man with a trackable, provable record of accomplishments.

Looked like he had all the back up he needed right here.

"Zen I in need of yourrr help..." Nikita said, reaching over to pat the man on the shoulder. "Komrrrade."

The best buddy cop duo this side of Slateport had been born.

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