[attr="class","nikita"]As the camp faded from view, Nikita tossed out a familiar figure. The lanky Intelleon’s throat was marked by a horrific scar. The only noise it made came courtesy of its breathing. “Anne.” A nod of respect was offered to his ally—the pair brought together not by companionship but a mutual, burning hatred. “Would you be so kind as to cover our sixes?” With an inclined head of her own, the Intelleon vanished into a rippled state of invisibility.

The Houndstone at his side let out a grunt. This single noise had a thousand different meanings. In this case, however, Nikita took it to be a wish for good luck. Which, in Anne’s case, would mean bad luck for everyone else. A powerful burst from her back legs sent her to the top of a nearby crag. Trusting her judgment completely, the detective did not watch to see what she prepared. Only after this was complete did he turn to face his younger companion.

“We are to deliver the medicine, Mister Toral.” Certainly, a task he felt beneath him, but one of which he could see the necessity. “Engaging the Naganadel is to be avoided, if possible.” Unlike the commander, he remembered names relatively well. At least until someone made them annoying enough to not be worth the headspace. Something teenagers proved surprisingly adept at.

“I am sure you will find other ways to sate your bloodlust.” A will-o-wisp from Winters lent his newly lit cigarette a ghoulish, purple glow. He did not offer one to the child. It was a terrible habit. One he indulged in because living was such a chore. “The camp is likely surrounded by dissidents.” The latter word was twisted in a way to make it obvious he meant scum.

As the landscape became more crowded, his hand drifted to the gun at his side. Unfortunately, he had to do so with his non-dominant arm. The other was in a sling after a mauling courtesy of his own Glalie’s Ice Shard.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Aaron Toral

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective’s eyes slid toward the teenager. Below them, typically flat lips were pursed into a thin line. Is this level of foolhardiness typical of youth, or am I merely misfortunate? As one might expect, his mind did not answer. While he may have fallen far from his lofty perch, he had yet to go fully mad. As the talk of talk advantages ensued, Nikita could not resist a sigh.

“It is not our pain, however.” The idea that type advantages were what truly determined battles was a juvenile one. Naganadel were certainly more than toxic syringes. They were monsters from an alternate dimension—creatures known for their adaptability and speed. “We were given a task, Mister Toral. That is what we should focus on.” Being distracted by an assassination could mean the end of an ailing soldier or their Pokemon.

The boy’s self-assured attitude coaxed out a chuckle. The sound was unnerving—as ghostly and intangible as the wind in a haunted wood. “Then, you are fortunate.” No doubt the truly dangerous foes did not find a child worth fighting over. Their goal was to break into the mountain. It was not made easier by picking fights with every greenhorn that came one’s way. Nikita shifted the pack upon his back. “But even gnats will eventually draw a crocodile’s eyes.” The lizard flickered back into sight, her yellow underbelly catching Nikita’s attention.

A water jet emerged between them. It scattered across the ground, clearing the mud from a recycled land mine. “Watch where you step, Aaron.” Nikita's voice dropped to a whisper as he lifted his eyes toward the incline ahead of him. It seemed approaching unseen would be difficult.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Aaron Toral

[attr="class","nikita"]Darwin’s law existed for children like this, Nikita thought. The gung-ho and foolhardy who typically died first in war. Those who relished the idea of battling for glory. Or, at least they did, until their entrails were spilled hot and steaming upon the ground. “And what will happen to the poisoned while you vanquish this beast?” Nikita asks with no small degree of wryness. “Shall we tell them to suffer a few moments whilst you play dragonslayer?” While he himself did not trust the league—for he trusted practically no one; most people were idiots—he also knew they were capable of taking out a single deranged lunatic.

Staring at the mines for a moment, Nikita turned to his Houndstone. “We must first secure the area, Mister Toral.” Eye sockets glowing with a fierce violet light, the Houndstone dropped the mines into a shadowy portal. “Patience is just as important a virtue as gallantry.” Where and what they would do in the phantom zone was anyone’s guess, but it was better than leaving them here for their comrades to be blown up by. With slow, methodological steps, Nikita moved to clear a path through the area—the hound ensuring the Scizor’s mine was removed as well.

Another bloodthirsty plan—why was he not surprised? He despises Rocket as much as the boy, likely more, but he preferred to do his work from the shadows. Silently picking off key figures from the shadows. “And, we will find ourselves trapped against the edge of a cliff.” Stll, he ddid not relish the idea of walking up there. There was little desire in his life to be a sitting Ducklett. “Call out your Metagross but keep it in the air.” The elder man said as he turned to Anne. Her maw split open in a tongueless grin, revealing needle-like teeth. “We at least can take out a few guards without notice.” High-velocity water certainly made a dent in Kevlar.

From a side pouch, he pulled out a pair of binoculars. These he used to peer at the camp above them. “There appear to be four in sight—likely two more blocked by the rocks.” Fortunately, the small platform did not allow much room for dodging.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Aaron Toral

[attr="class","nikita"]Children were more trouble than they were worth. Especially, teenagers. Nikita sometimes wondered what spell had allowed him to raise two of them without going mad. How he could look back on behavior like this and feel fondness? “You will find heroics rarely play out well in war.” The first person to peek above the foxhole didn’t receive applause. They often received bullets for their courage. The detective ignored the rest of the boy’s temperamental drivel. “It has been three minutes, Mister Toral.” The mines disarmed, Nikita turned to face the child. “I would not want these here when we come back down, would you?”

As he clambered upon the Metagross, Nikita offered a simple nod of thanks.

A noise of exasperation escaped pursed lips. The Houndstone at his ankles seemed similarly annoyed. “Or a brain in your case. One should avoid unnecessary risk.” An ironically hypocritical sentence coming from the HBIC vigilante and hunting dog. But he had nothing to live for but the two beasts inside of him. As the Metagross rose, the detective and Anne shared a look. He counted to three. When one of the men turned away, he nodded. “Anne.”

That vicious smile grew wider as the Intelleon’s hands swirled around a ball of glowing water. With a powerful burst of power, a Hydro Pump erupted from her gloved hands. This slammed into the back of three members of the blockade. One skidded to the ground as two more were sent teetering off the cliff’s edge. An Annihalape—a vicious, nasty thing—met a similar fate, Its ghostly body began to fade as it hit the rocky earth a few hundred feet below. Satisfied with that, he took a moment to light a new cigarette. He could practically hear the click as he unleashed the child next to him. Almost feel the grateful freedom as the hounds of war burst from their kennels.

“Do what you will.” A deep breath of nicotine banished any thoughts of the bodies crumpled at the cliff’s base.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Aaron Toral

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective sighed. While the League certainly had its shortcomings, a lack of self-absorbed heroes was not one of them. Certainly, he acted on his own, but it was with proper research and stage setting. He did not pick a fight with everyone who supported the emblazoned R. “I hope that bravado is not broken today, Mister Toral.” Because it would mean that the boy would be broken as well—shattered on a stretcher by one of Rocket’s avatars or heavy hitters. “It was a calculated risk—an idea that your teenage angst does not seem to allow.”

The detective shook his head again, growing weary of the movement. Some part of him was tempted to just dart the child and tie him to a tree. Perhaps gang him with a strip of his shirt. “And if those people need support or backup arrives? I certainly would not wish to see our alleys blown into confetti. But your bloodlust likely does not care.” And, he was surprised to find that some part of his hollowed-out, husk of a heart did.

At that assertion, Nikita laughed. It is a terrible, unnerving sound. Akin to an alien trying to mimic it. Suddenly, a gun is out of its holster and pointed at the boy. The safety isn’t off, but a calloused finger rests upon it. “Pride cometh before the fall, Aaron. And it is not a fun journey.” It’d been part of what ended his family, had it not? A continual rushing into high-profile cases against those with power. An addiction fueled by the bottomless pit of curiosity and thrill inside his stomach. He thought he’d see it. Know what was coming before it did.

“I know a charging Rhydon can do a lot of damage,” Nikita murmured as he slipped the loaded gun back into its holder. “But it often hurts itself in the process.” But pain was the best teacher. A fact that his heart agreed to with a hiss of agreement. As he surveyed the area below, a smirk formed on Nikita’s face. A few calculations followed. “We should collapse the  arch.” He pointed toward it. "Two well-aimed strikes at its thinnest points should do the trick.”

Then, he heard it—the damnable buzzing of dragon wings. A Naganadel surged up into the sky ahead of the Metagross. Its jaw opened up with a screech as it attempted to drown all four riders with Venoshock.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Aaron Toral

[attr="class","nikita"]The elder man allowed himself a small laugh—the sound as alien as always. The spirit on this teenager—or, balls, as the uncouth might say—seemed too large for his britches. It would be worth admiring if it was not so grating. Youth truly was wasted on the young. Just like air sometimes. “I will remind you that stereotypes exist for a reason.” While certainly not correct in all (or most) cases, they gave one a basis for conjecture.

At the talk of radio, Nikita’s hand slipped to the slim device at his side. “You will find it difficult to communicate locations in an unmarked, flat isle. And exact coordinates are difficult to gauge when fleeing for one’s life.” At the talk of movies, Nikita’s lips tilted. It was almost a smile—if almost skeletal. “There are code words, certainly. There are also code names, but such things are simple enough to crack.” The paradox of encryption always chose inopportune moments to raise its ugly head.

The Houndstone and Intelleon stared down the other two Pokemon with surprisingly calm demeanors. A yellow-stained finger tapped against the trigger. “I have no intention of killing you.” A fact reinforced by the gun’s safety still being on. And, if murder had been his solution, he would not have called out a warning. Nor would he allow the child to mount a response. “I am proving a point.” All the strategizing in the world would struggle to stop a bullet. But, apparently, even cold hard steel did not shake the boy’s spirit.

He idly wondered what kindling drove that fire.

As the world flips, Nikita is quick to regain his bearings. Only a pained grunt signals his discomfort—the stitched wound in his side protesting. His Houndstone merely blips back into existence with the world the right side up. Anne, meanwhile, spreads out her arms, allowing loose yellow skin to bring her idly to the ground. As the poison rains around them, the detective quickly calculates a plan. The question receives a nod in response. “We can.”

Below, the Rockets immediately begin talking among themselves. The hostages are on one side of the arch, and they are near the entrance. But the Naganadel is a wild thing—just as dangerous to its allies as its enemies. So, the reinforcements are reluctant to stage a response of their own.

“Anne.” The Intelleon takes a deep breath before unleashing dual Water Pulses on the approaching Rockets. They are driven back into one another like dominoes. A few of the Pokemon—now confused—launch themselves at their allies with feral screeches. The Houndstone, meanwhile, launches itself into the approaching Naganadel with a Play Rough.

Irritated by the lack of response to its attacks, the Naganadel’s eyes narrowed. With a deafening roar, it rocketed toward Aaron’s Metagross with a powerful Dragon Rush. "Tch." Blood exploded from the side of its head as one of Nikita's bullets skirted past its eye.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Aaron Toral