Alopex flicks the tip of one tail in such away that alerts her trainer to approaching presence. Moments later, his voice curls up over her shoulder.

She holds in a sigh. She’s wearing shorts and a crewneck, tennis shoe on one foot, the other one bare, revealing the silver metal and echoes of circuits that replace her ankle and right foot.

“Howdy,” she parrots back, falling back on her khaki-covered rear and smiling over her shoulder at him. Before she says anything else, her poverty senses start tingling: he didn’t address any of the other people who he had passed, looking like they were doing what they were supposed to be doing at a cemetery; he carries himself with a certain surety; he talks like a cowboy in the year 2024.

This man is a cop.

Or, at least, he thinks he is. Some version of one, anyway.

Alopex helpfully alerts them to the Honchkrow’s presence with a quiet chirp. She spins a confuse ray around the bird before it can fly further afield. A Pokeball is tossed shortly after, before it crashes into the ground and breaks its neck.

“Birdwatching,” she says, curt. “What about yourself?"