While far past the age of adventuring, the detective found himself a pioneer of parts unknown. His psyche, however, was set on the case which had been brought before him. Or, to be more accurate, the cases The first was a simple missing persons investigation. The police chalked the incident up to a disloyal man looking for a way out. But to the experienced investigator, things did not smell right. A few questions indicated he’d been seen near the rift shortly before his disappearance.

The other case, meanwhile, was less of a case and more of a round in a game of ongoing tag. A Rocket fugitive he’d finally tracked down had fled into this rift earlier this week. And, so close to putting a bullet in the woman’s brain, it was hard to shake Nikita off the scent. The same could be said of the Houndstone forever at his heel. As they walked through the cavern toward a designated meeting point. Unlike Ettie, he seemed to be grounded. This came courtesy of weights he carried in a bag on his back. Nikita may not care about life most days—more of a revenant than a man—but he refused to look ridiculous in front of strangers.

Which is why he took time to admire the beauty of this place prior to reaching his destination. Though the land of the dead was a different realm entirely, he could not help but be reminded of the Ballad of Orpheus in his deadly deal with Yveltal.

When he arrived at the rendezvous point, a brief moment of confusion flashed. Why had the League allowed a child—one he’d met previously—to enter a deadly alternate dimension? Quickly shaking off the shroud of protective instinct, he would offer the young lady a nod. “Miss Ettie.” He sighed, aware of the torture his inner grammarian was about to face. “Lovely to see you again.” His accent as always is crisp and cool, like cucumber water on a winter day. His baby blues swept over the Dewgong in front of him, a feeling of loss twisting his heart.

Robin's bosom companion had been one of these graceful denizens of the sea. “I will find my own way.” The mask slipped back into place as the Houndstone gently rubbed its head against its trainer’s nicotine-stained fingers. “Thank you for the offer.” Turning to their last companion, the man offered a curt nod.

“I am Nikita. This is Detective Winters.” A dark rumble emerged from the Houndstone’s chest. While intimidating, it is simply the dead dog’s way of saying hello. “My pleasure, I am sure.”


Ettie Johanna Joy

☉

While he certainly understood the Tarzan upbringing had its drawbacks, it was difficult not to correct the young lady’s grammar.


If a third-person reference ever passed his lips, his mother would have gone into cardiac arrest. Then again, what else would one expect of an author and schoolteacher? In the rare moments he thought of her—Arcehs rest her soul—it was to wonder how she had stayed with his father for so long. The man was a literal crime lord. Then again, he also happened to be a hopeless romantic.


“Quite a sound idea,...Ettie.” Nikita murmured with a thin-lipped attempt at a smile. “It is almost as if it was mine.” The weight of the gun at his side reminded him that his words required an addendum. If she was willing to wander up to a man holding a gun, it was reasonable that her perception of danger might be a little skewed. “Though it should be avoided if you find yourself in danger.” Warning one’s quarry of an impending arrival earned you nothing but an empty belly.


His eyes drifted to where a pale hand met Lycanroc fur. “I see.” A brief look was thrown the way of his own hound. “How fortunate you are.” Winters had literally clawed his way back from the dead to return to his trainer—no, his brother. Though some part of him wondered how much of the will involved had been born from the then Houndoom’s inability to protect his wards. Though, it did not matter why he’d returned. Nikita was grateful. Without the Houndoom’s revival, the agent doubted he’d have made it the first month after his family’s demise.


Which would have deprived him of the fun of putting a bullet through the main perpetrator's head. Then again, death was quite welcome most days. He was not sure how much of him was alive at this point.


When the wolf greeted him, the Houndstone shifted his left foot slightly backward. This allowed him to bow to the younger dog. His bony tail gave a single wave, looking more like an antenna in a storm than an organic body part. From his own mouth, a huff of greeting emerged. This female seemed logical. It was not as if she was trying to troll him.


The detective hid his chuckle behind a claw of smoke. Though she did not answer his true question, he saw no need to stop her. “How astute.” After all, with the young man gone for days, indulging a child for a few moments would not make a difference. “Unfortunately not.” The detective sighed as he dusted stray leaves off of his coat. “He left his Pokemon behind. It is one reason his mother was so concerned.”


Blue eyes followed the slight hints of a trail to where the Electrike pointed. With a shrug, he moved to follow him. Only after the rest had slatted into place did the Houndstone slip into his spot at the end of the line. As he moved forward, he glanced down at Ellie. “I was asking if you have seen anything odd in the last few days.” This young woman seemed quite acquainted with these woods. Which likely meant she had noticed a buffoon stumbling through the woods.





Ettie

☉

Nikita did not laugh often these days. When he did, the noise was often forced. And, in his case, it was not like riding a bike. You could apparently forget what a normal laugh was meant to sound like. Thorough, the smokes certainly did nothing to make him sound like a nightingale. At the rate he went through the things, his lungs would likely be tarry enough to extinct a dinosaur.

The idea that his chuckling was what caused the discomfort did not pass his mind. Usually, such noises calmed people around you. Instead, he thought the words comment on people’s strange desires. “Terrifying or not, it’s true.” Notably, Nikita did not explain what had happened to those people. And, to be frank, the man possessed zero desire to. When hands were as figuratively (and literally) bloodied as his, trying to determine the source of each drop was a pointless endeavor.

“Thank you,” Nikita states simply, flicking his blue eyes up to meet Memo’s green ones. A closed door left one less sign that they were here. As the Banette continues to taunt Winters, Nikita merely sighs. The lavender fur along his sign remained puffed up as he tried his best to stare the creepy little troll down. Apparently, death didn’t change some things. While he adored Winter, his canid instincts sometimes got the better of him. “Your companion is quite…charming,” Nikita murmured as the dog settled. For his own ego, the Houndstone decided the retreat was a sign of victory.

At the question from Memo, Nikita allowed a small smile to creep over his face. “I think they will.”The special agent said as he approached the door. “Rats get far too comfortable in their little bolt holes.” He sighed. “Eventually, they grow complacent and those perimeter checks are forgotten.” And, from what Nikita's intelligence said, these butchers had been here some time. The man then steps through the door directly behind Memo.

“Tch.” On the table in front of them, no dead body or vivisected creature has been left behind. The slab has been wiped clean, obviously ready for its next victim. But the cages around them have filled with subjects. Pokemon with too many eyes. Body parts that have been sewn together in hopes of producing some super creature. Almost all of them were poison types of some kind. A few canisters of an unknown liquid were hung on the back wall.

A lot of the cages were tellingly empty. At the very least, these scientists, at the very least, kept a clean illegal lab. Blue eyes flickered to the computers in the labs in front of them. His gloves were snapped as he approached and laid his fingers on the keyboard.


A jet black phone was offered to the younger man. “Document the scene, if you would be so kind.” A USB was pulled from his pocket. “I will be combing their computer—attempting to make sense of this macabre jigsaw puzzle.”




Guillermo Marceliño

☉

Nikita almost found himself admiring the young man’s unerring optimism. In such a region—one torn asunder by war and literal acts of god—it took a lot to remain positive. But some part of him wondered if the repeated training falls had produced some kind of brain damage. When assured his name would suffice, Nikita hummed in response. Though, the use of his nickname drew up one salt-and-pepper brow.


“The ‘Master of Faster’?” Nikita queried with just a hint of incredulity. Though it certainly rhymed, the same could be said for Dr. Seuss's books. It did not necessarily indicate something of high quality. “Where did that particular moniker come from?” While he could see how it might appeal to someone less particular, Nikita could not help but scoff at the concept. Did qualifying for this rank not imply that someone else was always fastest? Though, he supposed, it could be utilized in a transitive sense—more like an accelerator pedal than a comparative.


Again, the bright soul seemed all too willing to put his neck on the line for a stranger. Still, it would be unwise to look a gift Mudsdale in the mouth. Aside from being a well-known phrase, it was also a good rule to live by. The ground horses rarely had pleasant breath. “I believe there is.” After a moment of pondering, Nikita opened his wallet. From within it, he pulled out an unspent restaurant gift card. Something a nosy coworker at HBIC had gifted to him some time prior. “Would you be so kind as to call a name prior to jousting? Present her with this card—make it seem like a raffle of sorts.” That would make it easier to spot the cheater and her new partner in the crowd. His hand lifted to clean the rest of the blood from beneath his nose.

At the talk of introduction, the man sighed. For a moment, he debated on providing one of his many aliases. Perhaps he could introduce himself as some stupid lord—-a charade that fit this event. Instead, he opted for the truth. “Nikita…” He began with a survey of the crowd around him. After a brief pause, he finished. “Sokolov.” This last name produced one of three reactions.

1. The gasp of a fanboy who finally realized why this man looked so familiar.
   A wide-eyed look of suspicion borne from his family’s mobster reputation
   An empty-eyed blink and a simple word of greeting
2. List item 2
3. List item 3

In most cases, Nikita hoped for the last answer. It made doing his job a much simpler affair.

Nikita nodded in response to the answer. “An interesting combination.” One that Nikita himself shared, though he would never admit to it. “Racers do not normally aim to impale one another.” Those sorts of incidents were often accidental hazards. In jousting, however, that was the entire point. When Josh gave his pseudonym again, the older man chuckled. “I will be watching at least.”

Until he had a few more pictures of his target anyway.

Josh Devlin

☉