The Intellion watched Theo approach with no small amount of suspicion. Its streamlined head turned to follow his movements, highlighting the scar where its throat had been slit. An icy eye lifted to its trainer, a question apparent. Can I shoot him? This violent reaction characterized many of the water type’s interactions with others. The abrasiveness was met with a simple shake of the head. Spoilsport. The Intelleon’s eyes seemed to say as she leaned against a tree.


Or, at least, she would have, if she had found one behind her. A new hole beneath her feet drew a frown onto the lizard’s face as she noted that the tree had moved. A large red eye now peered at the two men, a few yards closer to its target. Shrugging—seeing no use in warning the men about a giant tree monster—Ana leaned herself back against a tree.


Nikita spared the stranger a brief glance. If memory served, this individual was somewhere on the list of desired operatives, but that was not his purpose today. A pity. The baggy was sealed with a deft flick of the wrist. The baggie vanished into one of his windbreaker’s pockets. “I find it is much simpler if one stays on the path.” One hand gestured offhandedly to the path he’d recently left behind, its worn ruts reminding him of an old poem. Certainly, his old self would have stayed on that path for longer.


The man’s question was met with a noncommittal hum from the detective. “I am investigating a string of poisonings in the area.” Piercing eyes lifted to meet Theo’s, the sharpness of his gaze enough to cut. “I do not suppose you know anything about that?” Not that he blamed this particular issue on Rocket. The motive did not quite jive with him. If it were some wartime development, it’d be better released in a controlled environment. “Seen a Pokemon acting strangely, perhaps?”


A clatter behind him drew the anti-terrorism operative’s eyes to the far side of the clearing as a Pidgeot collapsed through the foliage. “Hm.” Its eyes were clouded and its movements drunk. Some sticky substance coated its talons. With the ease of a predator, the man approached the creature. The labored breathing drew a forlorn sigh from his lips. It was frightened. Its eyes seemed to be pleading with him. Unfortunately, he was no hero.


For a moment, he debated grabbing a gun and putting the creature out of its misery. The symptoms of this particular compound were distressing--to put it mildly. A long, drawn-out death that leads to full-body shutdown if left untreated.


His fingers slipped from the hilt of his gun to a small pouch of Pokeballs. Many of these were coated in the dust—he had learned long ago that companions only led to weakness. With a press, he expanded the ball and gently pressed it to the bird’s mane.

CATCHING PIDGEOT

THEO BECKETT