[attr="class","nikita"]A long-time Rocket target of his had run into this mist. Perhaps in hopes of escaping their dogged stalker. A ploy which—quite obviously—failed. "Hm." By the time he’d tracked the man and his Zebstrika down, they’d been relieved of their heads. Only a single bloodied footprint served to identify the perpetrator. After quickly logging it, Nikita turned back the way he had come.

Nikita had encountered this mist earlier this evening and a few times before that. It did not scare him. The tricks it played on his mind relied on phantoms and grief. But the detective did not believe in ghosts, at least not in this sense. And, fortunately, it seemed whatever creature had dispatched his mortal enemy had vanished in the swirling fog. His skeletal Houndoom mask provided some protection from the mist’s hallucinatory effects. That did not stop him from initially brushing Kazimir’s cries off as a delusion.

But then the man shouted again. With a glance at his companion—an old, surprisingly large Houndstone—Nikita rushed toward the sound’s source. That is not to say that he ran--that would be an inelegant, messy mode of travel. “Do you make a habit of announcing yourself on the battlefield?” Though his heart seemed to be in the right place, it was also in the right place to get shot. “It is a lovely way to—” Something stirred the mist around them as a wing dipped dangerously close to them. “--attract attention.”


With a mechanical roar, the Iron Jugulus swooped down toward them. All three of its maws began to glow hot pink—the energy a few seconds away from spilling out. With a sigh, Nikita gestured Winters into a battle stance. "Play rough."

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Kazimir Wynter

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[attr="class","samjer"]

[attr="class","nikita"]The GRAVITY of this room is intense. It weighs on him like the world on Atlas’s shoulders. His normally straight posture—something struck into him with stinging yardsticks—is hampered. The upper part of his body hunches as if to lighten the figurative load. In this situation, even the act of lifting a cigarette to his mouth seems a Herculean task.

Judging by the irritation Winters directs to his paws, the feeling is mutual. "Hm." The inability to float obviously disturbs the old hound. The protection from things such as rocks and falling objects was the only boon of being undead. Though it is an immensely small boon for the loss of the warmth in his body and the comforting beat of a heart. Without trying, the dog knows he is now as corporeal as any other being before this crevasse.

“We'll go next.” Perhaps he is compelled by the small resemblance Hideo Kino bears to Sam. Or, perhaps, this small gamble is a morsel for that beast in front of him. With a deep breath, Nikita and his undead companion begin their slow and steady traversal. Ancient, eroded rock crumbles as they make their way across the bridge. As they cross, the man looks for a source of the strange atmosphere.

A device that controls gravity itself? Some sort of machine that keeps ghosts from bypassing every security system known to man? It is far more interesting than the fire spouting from the room behind him. A reminder of the things lost to time because of fools and war.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective watches as the bomb is tossed about like a jongleur’s balls. But, it seemed far less temperamental than most bombs he had seen. No explosion accompanied the impact as it shifted from harness to jagged claws. A pity, certainly. It is lovely when people get a taste of their own medicine. Like the time he had poisoned a team full of mad scientists by leaving their own nerve gas leaking.

Still, there was something to be admired in the creature’s acrobatics. It was an elegant thing—for a manmade mockery, anyway. The Alakazam beside him tensed as the next attack powered up. Its middle head’s aim was obviously, askew—aimed more at the Intelleon sheltering behind the rocky shore than her or Nikita. With a frown, the Alakazam raised its arm in a strange pattern. Her next attack would come from the future.

That foresight would not save Anne from the Zap Cannon bearing down on her. “Anne.” A skeletal finger taps at the ball at his waist. With a split-second leap, the lizard would glow green. The beam of light tore the ground asunder, but there was no corpse left in its wake. The U-Turn had allowed the spy lizard to retreat to safety. At close quarters, the sniper lost a lot of her edge.

Unfortunately, there was not much time for the detective to think after that. A Garchomp was charging at him with some hoodlum screeching death threats from its back. A sharp whistle pierced the air as a Houndstone burst from the ground in front of him. “Why the bones in particular?” Eye sockets flaring pink, the Houndstone moved to meet the Garchomp’s charge with a Play Rough.

Hopefully, that would be enough to stop the sand shark. A brief glance was given to the now solo Iron Jugulus. He wished it was just a little bit closer.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]Xenon Antheil

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective’s eyes flickered to the yellow Luxray. His head inclined in the slightest hint of apology. “Ah.” While he wished to see Rocket eradicated, those feelings did not extend to their Pokemon. Many of the creatures were slaves to the machinations of the organization. They had little say in how they were used nor whose hand would balance upon their yokes.

“Quite. I did not mean the lady any offense.” A plume of smoke escaped beneath his mask—the glow of his cigarette lending the bone an almost hellish appearance.

The shield gave Ignatius a ringside seat in the void. Between those deadly fangs and moist, pink gums was a pit of darkness. He took a moment to contemplate that fate. But only that same, unreadable expression showed. The Glalie huffs as the cat dodges the attack. With a loud crack the ice that had formed shattered—temporarily reflecting the warzone like a shattered mirror.

When the cat attacked, the Glalie spins out of the way. Putting himself right in the path of a noxious, poisonous cloud. “Come now, Ignatius. Surely, you know a feint when you see one.” Nikita scolds from the sideline—-his words a dull punishment to the purple veins that now intersperse his ice. “HSSSSS!” With a powerful burst of energy, a Snow Scape appeared. The area around the pair is now an opaque white, hail falling down around them. The foam at the shoreline begins to freeze and crackle angrily.

In an attempt to buy himself some space, the Glalie lobbed three shards of ice at the prowling cat. A pained breath emerged as the poison crawled up a few inches.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]Tempest Quinn

[attr="class","nikita"]The man turned to face her. His tired eyes are filled with exasperation. “I am only assuming what your conduct implies.” Though, now that he views her properly, he can see the nervousness in her eyes. It is in the tenseness of her shoulders and the way she places her hands. This is a creature torn between fight and flight. Perhaps a bit of claustrophobia? An adult's knowledge-driven fear of the dark?

The fear smoothes the detective’s rough edges a little. There is almost a hint of empathy in his detached tones. “It is not meant to be fun, Miss Sleigh.” As an adult, it quickly became clear how few things in life were enjoyable. For him, most of that had been ripped away—the healthy limb cut off in place of the gangrenous, ulcer-ridden one. “This is war, not a football match.” Though he had to admit there was something in that moment of adrenaline—as the old hound finally stared down at its prey—that held a hint of closure.

Instead of pausing the Tauros—letting their pursuers know something was amiss—Nikita kept them moving at a consistent pace. “They likely intend to just ambush us.” The detective sounded almost bored. A simple brutish thing with nothing cerebral about it. Quite droll in fact. “Perhaps block two of the tunnels so that we cannot turn around.” In such tight quarters, there would be no retreat. But Nikita was not afraid.

Death would be welcome at this point. Suddenly, the tunnel ahead lit up with a bright purple light as a dog snarled. As they turned a blind corner, they’d find themselves facing down four Rockets. But whatever defense they’d cobbled together was temporarily disrupted by the disincorporating of a Houndstone. A Cradily now flickered with white-and-purple flames. A fighting type, meanwhile, had been knocked on its arse by a well-timed phantom force.

“Now, is not the time for subtlety.” With narrowed eyes, Nikita unleashed the newest addition to his party. A translucent, empty jellyfish with an almost ethereal poison flowing through its veins.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]june sleigh

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[attr="class","nikita"]A hand moved to touch the note in his vest pocket. Positioned directly above the logo on his Kevlar vest. A cold laugh emerges. “Who says I am ignoring it?” Nikita asks the young woman with the barest hint of mirth. An almost vicious smile lights up his typically wan features. The pair round a rock and temporarily vanish from view. At this moment, the ghoulish hound dives into the ground beneath them.

A fond glance of farewell is spared as the hound’s aura fades from view. “He who picks the battlefield wins the war.” The detective refuses to stare behind them as they continue to walk. There is no real change in his gait as they pass a puddle. Left behind by an earlier battle, its muddy surface reflects movement to its right; a kick of a pebble sends it into ripples. “I believe they wish to goad us into that valley.” Two large rocks stand slightly to the right, an area not unlike a cattle track. Instead of a headlock, however, there will be Rockets waiting at either end.

“With that in mind, Miss Calcifet—” He pauses to adjust his collar and tug his sleeves down. If she watches carefully there are what seem to be needlemarks. A roar erupts as a Steelix erupts out of the ground beside them, topping one of the stone pillars to the ground. “Where do you wish to make a stand?” A sharp whistle from Nikita reveals an Intelleon camouflaged a few yards behind them.

A powerful Hydro Pump erupts from its fingers, rocking the steel snake’s head sideways with the sound of grating metal.

[attr="class","nikitatag"]Elise Calcifet

[attr="class","nikita"]Nikita did not enjoy the ride any more than his younger companion, though for vastly different reasons. The man did not feel as if cart driver was an adequate use of his abilities. But, with the island infested by soldiers, quiet investigations were not feasible. And, if he despised anything more than pests it was needless manual labor.

Though, this young lady made him feel like he was dealing with both. What was with this newest generation and their impatience? Had technology and instant gratification truly warped all of them into impatient little goblins? Why he—with his appreciation of cellular and computer technologies—had not been inflicted was beyond him. You sound like every other old man, Nikita. You know this is just one impatient child. One that he wanted to tell to walk.

The tunnel ahead of them sloped downward into the dark heart of the island. Unfortunately, it skirted the traps and other brain teasers. It was not a place where Heatran roamed or heavy pressure weights threatened. Up until this point, he had ignored the whining. Once upon a time, he’d lived with teenagers—equally as wearing on his patience. “It is lovely to see you treat this situation with the gravity it deserves.” Even if it annoyed him as well.

At the front of the cart, two Tauros moved with dogged determination. One’s hide glowed with the blue of water and the other with a fiery red hue. “We are getting close.” The HBIC agent responded cooly, eyes flickering to the GPS on his smartwatch. “And your whining will not make us arrive any faster.” On his side at the front, the Houndstone turns to give June the side eye.

Perhaps I can disable her tongue. The red eyes beneath his scraggly hair seemed to say. “We use the tunnels because the surface is a literal war zone, Miss Sleigh.” Not all of these supplies were harmless. A few of them were quite volatile. An errant Flamethrower or Dragon Pulse would turn them into cinders. A sight that he would not wish on anyone before.

Scorched chestnut hair. A child’s face frozen in a terrified scream. A mother’s corpse draped over a teenage son three feet taller than her as if that could protect him from the blast. For a few moments, he perceives in silence. Wishing he had something stronger than whiskey to forget the smell and sight.

The dog at his side rose with a growl, leaping through the tunnel’s walls. “It seems they have set a trap ahead.” As if confirming his suspicion, quiet muttering echoed back to them.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]june sleigh

[attr="class","nikita"]The strange, greenish gas began to sink like a Galarian fog. But, without wind to stir it, its approach was more elevator than wedding phenomenon. The closing of the doors shook the entire chamber. Which meant there was little chance of lifting them.

Nikita did not immediately turn to face the idiot who had started this mess. Instead, the flare of his rage shone back at him from the gem’s many surfaces. A fractal representation of his uncharacteristically expressive face. A shaky breath emerged as the detective pulled out his final cigarette. “Winters.” The normally expressionless voice shook with frustration. The hound did not hesitate to send a Will-o-Wisp toward his trainer’s face.

This nonsense was why he insisted on working alone. After two deep breaths, the detective finally turns to face this man. The mask on his voice marked him as a likely enemy. It was one thing to be purposely killed by a Rocket—a fitting game between two opponents. It was something else entirely

“What elegant last words.” He shook his head. “I am certain the gas will feel terrible when it scorches your lungs from the inside out.” Turning to his hound, the man nods. “See if you can find a lever.” With a clank of his bony jaws, the dog vanishes through the distant wall. A job that will, ultimately, turn out to be a wild goose chase.

Though, if it comes down to it, he can likely escape with a well-timed Phantom Force. But that would be breaking the rules, wouldn't it?

“Perhaps we should play hopscotch.” The man walked around the gem’s pillar. The man’s eyes narrow as he tries to decipher the worn text on its base. “Maybe the next trap will kill us quicker.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]Dwayne Parker

[attr="class","nikita"]The Glalie does not celebrate, nor does its trainer. Such an attack was merely a shot over the figurative ship’s bow. In tropical waters such as this, the effectiveness of a blizzard is limited. Soon enough, the sun punched through the white veil—unveiling the normal landscape again. In the interim, Nikita has shifted from his former position to a closer one.

Unfortunately, it seems the visibility had not been limited enough. The men’s eyes meet across the landscape for a heartbeat. In that moment there was a brief flash of acknowledgment. “I would not have pegged him as a Mitten.” Perhaps it would be too far to term it as respect, but it is something. A similar look flits across the ice-type’s face as the Luray faces him.

At the feline’s snarl, the ice-type merely blanks. “Ignatius.” Hail drops from its breath like icy diamonds as steam rises from its icy exterior. When it charges, it seems as if the creature freezes. But—like his trainer—Ignatius is a deliberative creature. It is loathe to move when it is not necessary. As the Luxray pounces, a bright barrier flickers to life in front of him.
The Protect saves him from the worst of the attack.

Immediately on its heels, the Glalie unleashed the very spirit of chill from his core. The Sheer Cold was a wild, demanding thing that sought to freeze the entire battlefield into submission.

“I do not suppose we can get you to come quietly?” Nikita sounds tired—a state that has become perpetual. Obscured by his mask, only the movement of his bottom lip is visible—the mask’s snout long enough to hide his sneer.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]Tempest Quinn

[attr="class","nikita"]Typically, he solved the case and left others to handle the clean-up.  He found little need to answer questions about what he had discovered. Such was the beauty and freedom of working alone. When Johanna asks for further information, the detective nearly stumbles. “The riddle referenced its trapping teeth. How it would lay a trap for the man’s enemies.” Perhaps a bit sexist to assume the gender of the buried person, but the creature in mind had always struck him as something more masculine. Perhaps because it was given to stalking and rude behavior.


Before speaking—in case they were being spied upon—Nikita’s eyes dropped to his Houndstone. Seeing him at ease, the detective’s wan, cultured tones emerged. Although they were still more whisper than exclamation.


“I believe it to be a Galarian Stunfisk.” The main pillar’s pattern resembled the five-pointed bite of the creature's two mouths. “If you happen to have one on hand, we may investigate further.” But he did not think such a sedentary, deceitful creature fit the gym leader’s persona. Though he would bristle at the idea of playing graverobber. There were many mysteries on this island, and he wished to taste them all.

The two Pokemon received a nod of acknowledgment. “Thank you for your assistance.” A tight smile was thrown Johanna’s way—a sign that he meant this pleasantry for her as well. Not bothering to turn, Nikita would speak again. “Anne has our rear covered.” He could not see the Intelleon—her ability to camouflage as strong as the Gengar’s—but he had no doubt she was there.

“I suggest we watch our step.” Not only did this place have its fair share of natural traps, but it was also covered in all kinds of manmade hazards. He did not doubt a Rocket would be happy to take a shot at them both.

As if summoning the danger, a Rhyhorn suddenly appeared over the horizon. Upon its back was a masked figure, its front painted with a very abstract skull. “You would think they would learn about anatomy first.” With a sigh, Nikita turned to face the threat. Though he did not feel the typical heat of vengeance swell—this was obviously some punk with the skill of a drunken Togepi.

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[attr="class","nikitatag"]Johanna Joy