...What the fuck have you just walked in on?

What was once your camp has now devolved into utter chaos. Every building that made up your base is gone, and in its place, a strange mass of moving bricks is wreaking havoc on your allies. Golurk is currently being swamped by blocks, stalwart and still as it holds armfuls of equipment close to its chest, trying to protect them from harm. Meanwhile, Quagsire is being repeatedly bludgeoned, and no matter how hard it tries, it cannot run nor hide from the ceaseless assault of the sentient structure. Howard and Grigori aren't faring much better, but at the very least, the archaeologist seems to have a plan - Amp up the Probopass with electricity.

"Alright, Toxtricity! Hit him with a--" You begin, only to quickly remember why that won't work. Glancing back, you confirm that yes, Toxtricity is still lying limp in Scizor's grasp, completely sucked of electric charge. "--Oh. Hm."

Alright, new plan. You can't rely on Toxtricity for electricity, but in terms of other Electric types, you're severely lacking. If only there was some other Electric-type nearby, one that had more than enough power to supercharge Probopass, and one that you knew could easily faciltate the transfer of energy in and out of itself. Like, say, a giant mesh of wires...

"Alright, bud." With a snap of your fingers, you scramble through the chaos of the battlefield, snatching one of the Ultra Beast's cables, and "plugging" it straight into Ayer's body. "Prepare to be SUPERCHARGED!"

THWAP!

...Uh?

THWAP!!

...Okay, third time's got to be the charm...

THWAPTHWAPTHWAP!!!

...Uh oh.

"Howard? It's, uh, not working...?"

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov
22 - find a way to bring power to a deactivated power station (Ayer is a power station don't at me), but any instruments or machinery within will fail to work yet.

It's a long trudge to get where you need to go, and in weather as bad as this, it feels even longer. You're soaked by rain from head to toe, and you're splattered in mud from toe to head. It's really put a damper on your mood, y'know? These are hardly the kind of conditions you want to be monster hunting in. It's harshing your vibes.

But, hey, you can't really complain. Not with the crazy check you'll be cashing if you manage to bag this beast. And that's just the payout for the bounty! You've already got a whole elaborate plan for how to escalate that higher: First a few dozen media appearances, then a few dozen more sponsorship deals, and finally ending on a cushy TV show that'll pay you more than you're worth. Then the licensing fees for your likeness will start coming in, and then you'll REALLY be in the green.

At least, that's the idea, anyway. You've got to find the thing first before you can profit off it. To that end, you've "recruited" Grigori Sokolov to act as your "assistant" in this endeavour. With his brains, his brawn, and your complete lack of scruples, you'll be done here in no time.

Or, you would be, if it wasn't for all this walking. The damned bastard taxi driver wouldn't take his shitty cab all the way into the wetlands, so you've been walking for the past thirty minutes straight. Fucking asshole. Doesn't he know you need all the stamina you can get for this monster hunt?

"Gregory, are we there yet?"

---

TL;DR: Shred walks and whines with Grigori Sokolov to Area 1.

PURCHASING/REDEEMING

welcome to the poké mart!

1X Mega Beedrillite (Free from Blight and Bane Endeavours)

TOTAL

do come again!

0 PD

SUMMONING MY FATEBORN CHAMPION

welcome to the poké mart!

1X regular gachapon (FREE FROM SPECTRA, FOUND HERE)
Shred's Gacha HERE (Don't mind the other gachas I'm reserving them)

TOTAL

do come again!

0 PD / shiv: awaiting selection of prev. gacha

You don't like these cats.

The small ones are fine, sure, but when they start standing on their hind legs? You don't much care for that at all. Who gave them the right to do that? You can tell by the looks on their faces too: These cats think standing up tall makes them better than everyone else. Better than all the quadrupedal Pokemon, and better than humans, too.

In reality, however, they aren't shit. They think pulling flowers out of their asses is the height of magic? They're nowhere near as cool as Barry Boudini, the greatest magician of all time. He was doing all sorts of crazy shit, like escaping from a safe that's been submerged in acid, or undoing five pairs of handcuffs at once. Granted, he died from getting punched in the gut once, but would these cats fair any better? According to Pokepedia; The Free Encyclopedia, the ones that stand up are Dark-type. One punch would fold them too.

Anyway, enough chit-chat. Get in the Pokeball, you freaks of nature.

---

OKIPXclx

You don't respond, partly because you've already been thoroughly defeated today, and partly because the Gligar's sting has partially paralyzed the muscles in your face. You simply allow yourself to be dragged along, occasionally moving your legs in some vague attempt to help the process along. Though, again, most of your legs are thoroughly maimed, so you give up on that pretty quick, too.

You make it to the bottom floor without further incident. You even walk past the same Axew, who has now finished drinking his cup of tea, and who is now washing it in a nearby puddle. But alas, when it rains, it really pours. June can't even get you out the door before her path is blocked by a Turtonator. Oh, joy. Already, you're beginning to brace yourself. Maybe if you're lucky, the severe burns you're going to get will help cauterise your other wounds...

But instead, the creature steps aside, and delivers a single pat to your head. It's gentle, warm, and soothing. Though he might be ugly as sin, this Turtonator is a saint among sinners, completely innocent and born without evil. Of all of Arceus' creations, he is the kindest.

So, the instant it turns its back, you huck a Pokeball at it, because lord knows you need more kindness in your life.

Unfortunately, you're not in any position to pick it up right now, given your many previous injuries. (Un)fortunately, the clueless Gible is happy to grab it in your stead, likely seeking a replacement for the rock it tossed earlier.

You suppose you should be thankful for that. You suppose.

---

Catching BIG TURT IN THE HOUSE!!
june sleigh

"Certainly looks like it, huh?"

What to do, what to do, what to do? The simple thing would be to call it off here, to return them to their Pokeballs and to call this little scuffle a draw. It's quick, it's easy, and it solves the problem. But it doesn't feel right, does it? It's hardly a satisfying conclusion to this hard fought battle, and though you haven't read the League Guidebook front-to-back, you doubt that you'll earn a gym badge off a tie. You'd be ending this fireworks display not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Then again, you're really starting to get comfortable in Hoenn. You've got a cushy-enough job, a few just-about friends, and you've even cleaned most of the Rattata out of your "apartment". It would be a real shame to eat a charge for Pokecide now. You're getting too old to keep on running. You don't have many more excuses left in you.

"...One last strike." You speak aloud, both your answer and your conclusion in one. Your hand grabs Grimmsnarl's Pokeball and your finger rests on the button, but you don't press it just yet. At the same time, you take out Slowpoke's Pokeball and hold it by your side, primed with Heal Pulse and ready to the tend to the aftermath. "One last chance for them to hit each other with everything they've got, and whoever hits the ground first loses."

It's not your favorite way to end this. Certainly, the dramatic standoff loses a little of its drama when it's so arbitrarily enforced. Still, nobody here will be happy unless there's a victory and a defeat. You won't, Navy won't, and neither will Grimmsnarl or Leviathan. At the end of the day, you're all just beasts, seeking that indescribable high, that rush of adrenaline. Humans like to think themselves civilised, but they can't shake off their insticts. The thrill of the hunt excites you, as it does the common Poochyena, as it does the mighty Salamence. It's simply what it means to be alive.

"Count us down, cowboy."

Grimmsnarl stops, and his head tilts back to you. You can tell he's upset by your interference, but he doesn't act out right now. He'll get his revenge later, and you won't know until the moment you trip on a loose floorboard or step on a rusty nail. For now, he faces forward and plays along, a half-dozen tendrils of hair unfurling from his shaggy coat. He's planning something, but you doubt even Arceus knows what's brewing in that cruel and twisted mind.

"Then silence me, dragon."

---

Navy

You wait and watch as Toxtricity have the greatest debate ever known to modern politics, and man, is it boring. So boring that even Grigori, a man with startling tolerance for the inane, decided to leave. He did leave his Scizor behind, though, which meant that your bastardization of the buddy system was still going strong. Plus, you've always wanted a Scizor, so at the very least, you can pretend that he's your Scizor. Maybe snap a few pictures? After all, there's nothing chicks dig more than a Scizor.

"How goes the chit-chat, bud?"

"Shred, mate, I don't think it even has vocal cords, let alone a mouth."

"Alright, we've got time. Stand still..."

Throwing an arm around the Scizor, you pull out your phone, open up your camera, and begin taking snaps. One at a high angle for your socials, one at a low angle to show to friends, and one right in the middle for your dating profile. Yeah, this goes hard as fuck. You'll be swimming in bitches after this--

"GAH! FUCK! HELP ME, SHRED! HE'S SUCKING ME! I'M GETTING SUCKED! HELP! Help! Help...!"

--If you don't, then you're really in trouble. At that point, you'll actually have to start trying. Y'know, regularly showering and wearing nicer clothes and taking responsibility and showing respect and all that other shit. But, just in case, you may as well fish around for a few more angles, really bulk out your gallery...

ZZZZT! A cable reaches out and touches your phone, and in the blink of an eye, the battery drains from a modest 30% all the way to stone cold zero. What the fuck? You look up, and see that sure enough, the Xurkitree had abandoned its conversation with Toxtricity to come and snack upon your electronics.

"Toxtricity, what the--" You turn your gaze over to the lizard, only to see him slumped on the ground, completely drained of his own electricity, too. The lightning yellow spikes were completely gone from his back, replaced only by the occasional spark and a few wisps of smoke. Luckily, he's alive, but you can tell that this was one of the worst sucks he experienced in recent memory. Y'know, in hindsight, you probably should have expected this kind of thing to happen, but in the end, all you can really muster is a simple "Oh."

But you can't stop now. The Xurkitree, still hungry for more, is already on the move. In fact, it's making it ways towards your camp right now as you speak. That's definitely bad. Absolutely can't let that happen. It'll certainly ruin everything. Probably. Maybe. Somehow.

"Scizor, Toxtricity, with me!" You call out, only to stop after a few steps. It occurs to you that Toxtricity probably can't even walk in his current state. Still, you can't just wait around for him to get better, can you? Then again, you can't leave the alien alone either. "Shit, change of plans: Scizor, you carry Toxtricity! I'll scout ahead."

And with that, you give chase.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

"Well... I did..."

You kick yourself for not bringing along Great Tusk on this expedition. After his last showing in the Ultra Plant, you had wanted to give him the day off, but you're quickly beginning to regret that. That wouldn't have been such a problem, if your other two Ground types weren't back at base, guarding equipment and/or harassing paleontologists. You wonder how that's going for Howard, anyway? He must be bleeding from the ears by now. He'll definitely be wishing he had stuck with the rest of you by now...

---

"Quag?"

The slippy little lizard looked up at the wall. A hundred blue eyes stared back down at him. The axlotl cocked his head to the side, a thoughtful expression on his head. A hundred eyes turned red.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP!
"QUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!!!"

---

...However it's going, you're sure it'll be fine. Right now, you've got to talk to these sentient cables. Alright, you don't have any Ground types, so if you're looking to get diplomatic, you'll have to improvise. How about an Electric type? That certainly seems to make sense. You're no biologist, but types are similar to kingdoms, right? With a thoughtful "hm", you pull the Pokeball of Toxtricity from your belt, and bring it up to eye level. Sure, he's no ambassador, but he's plenty electrical, and at the very least, he should be able to get the gist of what's going on.

"Come on out, bud." You toss the ball up, and sure enough, Toxtricity comes on out. "Do me a solid, and--"

"Fuck's sake..." Toxtricity replies, his voice so weary you'd think he was an eighty year old war veteran. You know the look on his face. It's the "Where did I go wrong?" look. You've seen it many times when you're looking in the mirror. Still, it's the only protest he offers before he turns towards the live wires. "I'll do it, right? But in exchange, I want the nice berries for me and the lads. And DON'T even try and toss us that mushy clearance shelf crap, mate, because I'll know if you do, and I'll fucking deck you one. Deal?"

"Deal."

With that, Toxtricity marches out to meet this otherworldly being, and you and Grigori are given the rare privilege of watching first contact with aliens happen firsthand.

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov
19 - engage/encounter roaming or eerily still xurkitree that may be pivotal as a narrative obstacle or tool (e.g. powering things up). [COMPLETE]

The Surf collides with the Grimmsnarl, but the rush of water does little to dampen his burning rage. Of course, this represents not one strike, but many. It is the motion of the ocean, rising up and crashing down, wearing down a stalwart cliff not through sheer power, but through endless repitition. As long as Kingdra can keep riding the wave, his assault won't stop. You don't know how many hits it'll take to put Grimmsnarl down, but given how roughed up he is already, you know it can't be too many.

"Save your boasting for someone who cares to hear it, little wyrmling." He growls, eyeing the seahorse like a butcher sizing up a cut of meat. He knows that the momentum isn't in his favour, but he won't tolerate that for long. He'll stop his foe dead in his tracks, and he'll use his beloved water to do so. "Now, BLEED!"

The ogre raises his arms up high, and bring them down hard upon the ice. The cold surface shatters from the force of his fists, breaking into dozens and dozens of frigid daggers. Then, with another sweeping motion, it flings the array of icy blades directly into the wave, where the true nature of the attack becomes apparent:

The flow of the water pulls the shards straight upwards, threatening to skewer the Kingdra riding atop the wave a dozen times over. That is, of course, unless the dragon were to abandon their Surf. But in doing so, they sacrifice the precarious advantage they have in this fight, leaving them back at square one, and perhaps even behind it. Then again, surely that is a better fate than the alternative flurry of stabbings?

It's a Foul Play, to be certain, but an damned effective one.

---

Navy

"Oh shit, WATCH--"

As soon as the Kingdra fires off its shot, Grimmsnarl's entire body twists and turns, shifting as it delivers a blistering Sucker Punch. Was that part of his plan all along? To intentionally turn its attention away from its foes, to feign ignorance to bait a surprise attack, only to turn the tables and launch a counter-attack? You furrow your brow. Though he might be an ogre, he's far from the kind of ignorant oaf that's portrayed in fairy tales. No, his mind is just are vicious and brutal as the rest of him, if not more so.

The blast of water and the hairy claw reach their marks at the same time. The shot hits him hard in the shoulder, blowing through armoured chunks of hair and bruising the flesh below. But that's a small price to pay, because he's got his hooks on the dragon now. It's a repeat of what he did with Pelipper, only this time, the prey he's hunting is far bigger.

"COME, LEVIATHAN!" Grimmsnarl roars, dragging the Kingdra closer and closer, as though reeling in his prize catch. All the while, the air around his jagged claws glows and shines and cracks and shatters, the signal of a Spirit Break that's sure to come. "COME, AND MEET YOUR END!"

---

Navy