[attr="class","nikita"]"The fuck is what?" Nikita's voice is lost in the noise of the Walking Wake's roar. His informant's head jerks up as his boss growls. With a look of disdain, the detective races forward. Old, malnourished bones protest but that does not stop him. "We will be right there!"

Anne shakes off her shock and joins the Ninetales in its defense. Her Sucker Punch seems to do no more than bloody its nose.

Though he is tempted to ask what thing, its roar is all too familiar. He'd sicked one of these on a teenage companion a few hours earlier. It appeared it had not been a fan of Mis Ettie's third-person habit either. "Head to the clifftop!"

"M-mister Sokolov! Wait!" A snort emerges from the older man. He'd already wasted enough time on this idiot. He had no plans to coddle him. And if his stupid arse got caught again, well, rescue would be out of the question.

"Winters!" A hand reached out to trail along one of the Houndstone's protruding shoulder blades. The pair were wreathed in shadows. For a moment, there's a feeling of void. An unerring, merciless cold that makes his teeth chatter. Then, they emerge behind the beast. They are close enough for its tails to upset his glasses.

"Ahem." He does not even need to throw a ball to capture it. "Making new friends, I see." His chest heaves with exhilaration. For a moment, there's something akin to life in his tired eyes. Then, it's gone.

He tightens his hands around the ball until it hurts. He is surprised to find that he's glad Petra is unhurt.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] PETRA MONROE

[attr="class","nikita"]Nikita does not need to turn to know his Houndstone had joined him. The familiar prickling along his neck is sign off. "Winters." The old hound nods. Taking point, the ghost begins weaving through the labyrinth of tents.

Finally, the spectral dog draws to a stop. The sector is surprisingly empty. Through the canvas he only sees a single guard. In the flickering of the camp light, he can make out his informant's bowed head. It appears to be in a bag. "I do hope he kept his mouth shut."

"Ceiling, you mean?" BANG! There's an echo on the walkie-talkie as he lets the button go.

A few cut ropes and he and the informant are weaving back through the camp.

So blinded by her rage at Rocket, Anne did not notice the predator making its way down the cliff face. Instead, she's debating on putting an icy bullet through someone's skull.

Then, she senses it. With a silent look of alarm, the Intelleon dives to push Petra out of the way. With a CRASH, the Walking Wake pounces. Thick claws scoop up the spindly lizard as the water in the attacker's mouth begins to boil.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] PETRA MONROE

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective does not call attention to her awkwardness. Telling her to be more natural would only make it harder for her to do so. The human mind was a strange thing.

Her sudden cowardly streak bids him to turn around. A dark brow goes up, the expression beneath is similar to a disappointed headmaster. "Cold feet?" He sighs and waves the rest of his comments off. Making a frightened person do this was just asking for trouble.

He lifts a finger to the ridge they just descended. "Get somewhere you can actually see, Miss Monroe." Squaring his shoulders, Nikita grabs a mask from his bag. He slips it into place. It's a macabre thing--a snarling Houndoom's skull. But it blends in perfectly with the other Rocket disguises.

"Anne will stay with you." There is a pause as he turns to the chameleon. She looks displeased. "Keep our escape route clear." This is the last thing she hears as the lizard draws up beside her. Cold golden eyes peer down at her, the opposite of impressed. There is a second pair of eyes watching. Red ones.

After being ran off by that brat and its pack of mutts, the Walking Wake is aching to reassert control. Pebbles rain down the cliff's edge as its white claws wrap around the precipice. One of these was on a collision course with Petra's head.

All the while, the purplish flames on the opposite side of the camp grow larger.

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] PETRA MONROE

[attr="class","nikita"]The Houndstone's strange, thick fur helps deaden blows rained against it. Though it is unclear if his current stubbornness is more to blame.

Nikita chuckled. "Do not count your Torchic's before they hatch." Though he exudes cool bravado, he is aware of what he faces. Genesect is a difficult obstacle, one best overcome with a fire-type. Unfortunately, his only one was robbed of such power the same day his life was torn from him.

The Glalie turns as the Genesect zips around. His bright eyes show with pain. But he is ready to attack. From his mouth, frost exudes. For a moment, the pair are blurred out in white.

"Tch!" Nikita steadies himself as the earth shakes beneath him. This means the Paradox beasts will not be far behind. A shaking hand dips into his pocket, crushing an empty cigarette box.

His eyes catch on something that spilled from the detonator's back. Pale lips perk up slightly.

The dog, pressured by the earthquake, bursts out from the ground beneath Bone Buddy. His aim is off but his eyes fiery.

"If you admire his work so much, Mister Westcliff--" A scarred, skeletal hand wraps around the backpack's strap. "--you should look more closely."

He tosses it. "Winters." In such sync were the pair that nothing else needed to be said.

A Will-o-Wisp rocketed toward the bag. Another gust of cool wind boosted its path. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
zldQaGgk

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff

[attr="class","nikita"]Nikita's eyes darken for a minute. It's obvious he is taking a walk down some dark, memory-filled lane.

The agent who'd been assigned to his family's case was among the oldest on the force. He also worked with the urgency of a drained museum mummy. "Experience and competence are not synonyms, I assure you." Some people were strategically gifted. Others could stare at a chessboard for hours and be better off making a random move. "You are mostly here for support." The detective is not certain if this fact is reassuring or insulting. But he intended to retrieve his informant himself. Just in case the person was compromised.

While normally not one to explain himself, the detective's tongue was somewhat loosened by nicotine. He briefly rolls up a sleeve to reveal more than one nicotine patch. "I know what tent he is located in." The man, who always sounds tired, takes a deep breath. Smoke flows into his nose, tickling the beast that demanded vengeance. "The fire should lure people to the opposite side of camp. We should be able to quickly deal with the remaining guards." As he turns back to the distraction, the glowing flames dance in his glasses. Just a few moments more. A walkie-talkie at his side begins to buzz, panicked screams emerging. They are obviously from below.

'The munitions storage is on fire! We need to put it out!' A closer examination would reveal this walkie talkie isn't all black.

In his mind, a piece slips across the chessboard. Her impatience draws out a chuckle. The noise is broken. Like a ghost trying to imitate a gesture, it has long forgotten. "Let us be on our way." His silent Intelleon flickers out of view as he slides down the rickety path toward the camp.

xpx5ap6K

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] PETRA MONROE

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective sighed. Between yawning chasms like this, mad titans, and interference from the DRK Triad, there were fewer and fewer hours in the day. His eyes flicked eyes. “You would think infinite realities would give them time to bother someone else.” Briefly, his mind turns to the past Christmas night. His lips press into a thin line as he recalls Father Winter’s feline grin. The way the man played with his tragedies like toys.

Nikita paused to straighten the collar of his shirt. For some reason, it’d gotten into a terrible habit of raising on its own—like a stubborn cowlick. Perhaps the fog was doing something to it. “That is appreciated.” His forays into this place reminded him that many of his compatriots preferred to make a showy entrance. They behaved like Quaquval—always shuffling bright feathers in annoying, useless displays.

He winces at the word ‘sneezies.’ The human language had been so slaughtered in recent years. It surprised him his mother survived. Still, the man at least did not refer to himself in the third person. “So far, I am unencumbered,” Nikita responded with a derisive little sniff. An old, too-skinny hand rose to wipe away an invisible sniffle. This dry comment would be the closest thing Lam would hear to a compliment. Hopefully, he did not take it personally. The detective was rarely impressed with himself either.

“We are not trying to work with it, Mr. Logan.” Nikita’s icy tones are chiding. This troll did not wish to be their friend. It aimed to crush them beneath its power. Nikita lifted the detector for a moment. The power levels were off the chart. “It appears so.” He gestures Winters forward and whistles.

The Flutter Mane tries to apparate away from the arrow’s path. But its cackle ends in a gasp as its shadow remains firmly rooted in place. Taking the opportunity to strike, Winters unleashes a Shadow Ball at the ghost. It responds to these hits with a brandishing of a Mystical Fire. Its second attempt at this is stymied by a shot of water to its face. As its anger grows, the fog around it and the stone begins to solidify.

Nikita frowns. Nothing he had on the field was particularly suited to collapsing the hole beneath it. “Do you have anything more explosive?”

sdUUZgES

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] lam logan

[attr="class","nikita"]The detective turns slightly toward her. “I believe so.” A salt-and-pepper brow raises. “People typically like being asked for their opinions.” Their responses told him a lot about a person. Particularly how annoying they would be to work with. Then, of course, there were the deductive markers of a few words. Things like the accent, hesitation, and cadence at which someone spoke. How educated they happened to be. A realist, it seems. Such disbelief was a sign of two things: sarcasm and skepticism.

There was a pause as his typical examination took place. At this point, this introspection came unbidden. He noted how someone’s hands looked and their clothing. If bags were present, he sought any signs of what lay within. Were their cell phones broken? Online? Did they wear any unique jewelry? The Pokeballs on their belt could also tell a lot about a person.

As she surmised, none of it was truly up to her. He had already set things in motion below. Still, he found compatriots enjoyed feelings of control. Even if it was no more reality than an unplugged controller in a child’s hand. Still, much like her, he preferred subtlety. To retrieve what he needed and destroy what was required with no one being the wiser. “Is that right?” His eyes drifted toward the front of the camp as flames began to lick at a storage area.

Its smoke was a disturbing, ghoulish purple. “Give it a moment—” Nikita, tempted by her own smoke, lit his cigarette. “We will wait until they notice it.”


XI4izQkx

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] PETRA MONROE

[attr="class","nikita"]"They do have some standards, Mister Westcliff." Where Dorian is sass, Nikita is dryer than frozen carbon dioxide. At the talk of washed-up, Nikita laughs. There's a momentary flash of madness in his normally stoic gaze. Just how many of this man's friends had he personally taken out? "What a relief it is to understand one another." Left unsaid were their self-proclamations: you must die.

The Houndstone's attack connects. For a moment, the world is nothing but pink, bone, and shadow. So eager is he to put this uppity pup in its place that he misses the warning signs.

The dog smashes into the rock. For a moment, he crumbles. An earlier encounter with a Flutter Mane had already left its mark. But a huff and headshake later he is back on his feet. It's quite difficult to kill the dead. Vanishing again, the ghost returns to the land of six feet under.

Waiting just long enough for the dog to begin to doubt his reemergence, he bursts back out beneath him in a Dig.

Nikita, meanwhile, stares up at the Genesect. "Did it come with a placard?" The detective scoffs. The idea of workplace loyalty is laughable to him. Especially when you are in bed with blackhearts and terrorists.

As the flames wash over them, a blue barrier erupts into being. The Glalie's blue eyes stare up at Dorian with almost dismissive distaste. "Ready, Ignatius?" The ice-type nods as his trainer brushes his watch. CRACK! The ice-type's jaws grow until they snap.

The Mega Glalie stares up at the Genesect for a moment. Then it screams. The noise whips up a blizzard,

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[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff

[attr="class","nikita"]A dark brow rose. "Charlatans do not typically have business licenses." Except for life coaches, he supposed. His office was certainly not in a strip mall. It was a lovely building on a quiet street. But that was not the crux of the issue here. "You should swing by next time you're in town." Perhaps he could find the man's morality.

"Please excuse me if I'm not interested in yours." Certainly, he'd done his share of deplorable things. His arms were marked by scars when his urge for something beat out his better senses.

His hands were dyed dark red by all the blood they had spilled. But it was nothing compared to Dorian.

The Houndstone growled as the Dark Pulse hit its mark. His thick skin provided ample armor, but he could feel the shadows oozing into the cracks.

Kicking off the stones, Winters aims to close the gap between him and his ex-body double with a Play Rough.

"Mid-life crisis I see." Nikita remarks off-handledly as the Genesect takes center stage. Not enjoying the thought of being outnumbered, he brings his Glalie to the field.

"Ignatius." The ice type rumbled as it stared at the Genesect.
mTaHcSqH

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff

[attr="class","nikita"]"Formerly?" The man's chuckle is as dry as his wit. "It is fortunate I have thick skin." That look of scorn is reflected in his tired eyes.

Oh dear, the megalomaniac had found his soapbox. "I was educating you on the facts of life, not espousing on the talents of scum." He shook his head as he moved forward. At the talk of talent, he cannot fight away a sigh.

"How unfortunate." It sounds the opposite. His eyes linger on Bone Daddy for a moment before flicking up to Dorian. "But I can work with that."

"Winters!" The ghoul erupted from behind the Rocket himself. His attack aimed to knock Dorian from the perch. No terrorist deserved the privilege of the high ground.
330qFQAW

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff

[attr="class","nikita"]"Mister Westcliff, what a pleasure." His voice sounds almost congenial. But beneath he's an Arbox poised to strike. Some part of him is tempted to lift his gun and save the world this man's brand of terror.

But this man's twisted, corrupted mind is likely even more useful than the one scrambled beneath him. A hand caresses his gun. But he is not certain he can fire before the dog jumps.

It is not that he fears death. Far from it. But he would like for it to mean something.

A dry, sardonic chuckle emerges. "Most men don't, I'm afraid." He steps on the corpse's face to give him leverage to avoid the growing puddle.

"I do not suppose you will come quietly?"
ijnprtS0

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff

[attr="class","nikita"]Irritably, Nikita shakes the brains from hs shoes. It is obvious he is more irritated by the ichor than the murder. There are other ways to get the data he needed, after all. Unfortunately, this will need to be explained with paperwork.

Skipping away from the body, he uses his kerchief to wipe the blood from his shoes.

Unlike his trainer, Detective Winters was still on high alert. His ears perk up at the noise of someone approaching. The other dog--so reminiscent of his old self in appearance--proves himself a loudmouth. Nikita's head snaps up as the Houndstone leaps into action. Or, more accurately, out of harm's way. His _Phantom Force_ allows him to disappear into the ether. He does not immediately reappear.

No, he is looking for the perfect moment to strike. Perhaps to disable those fiery jaws.

His trainer reaches for a cigarette before remembering the pack is empty. With a sigh, he turns to face the Houndoom. "I assume we cannot settle this like gentlemen?" Then, he spots the trainer. There's a predatory glimmer in the man's eyes. He licks his dry lips.
Y74augqY

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff

[attr="class","nikita"]"I have seen your bombs a dozen times, Mr. Laney." Nikita pulls out a device from the man's pocket. The elder man has him pinned beneath him. An old, yellowed finger runs over the explosive's trigger for a moment. "I would quite enjoy you watching the clock run out on your miserable, immoral life."

There's fear in those eyes. "Unfortunately, we need you to answer a few questions.

But, after a scuffle, his rage has died down. This man is more useful to them alive. He could help uncover future plans and bombings. So, as much as Nikita wants to, he cannot just put a bullet through his head.

Though a rather eager Flutter Mane delayed Winters's arrival, the Houndstone soon reunites with his trainer. Occasionally, the dog's powerful jaws nip at the terrorist's heels. The tense trio are making their way toward a surface station.

There's a movement in the corner as a Scream Tail appears. Its eerie voice echoes through the cavern. Nikita's eyes turn away for a moment. Unfortunately, that's all it takes. The hostage pretends to trip before grappling for the detective's gun. "Fuck off, asshole!"

BANG! Brains splatter stone as Nikita pulls the firearm back. Blood stains his pants and grey undershirt. "Tch." He sighs, "What a mess."

gQMdXPCL

[attr="class","samjerpoke"]

[attr="class","nikitatag"] dorian westcliff