"Pain... Pain... Pain..."

You repeat that one word over and over and over, as though you need to verbalise the exceedingly obvious agony called by your exceedingly obvious wounds. It makes you a feel a little better, though. It's like putting a droplet of Bepsi into a glass of rubbing alcohol before you drink it down. Even that, that might be placebo, but you're not going to interrogate that, lest it stop working.

Part of you wants to just throw the Pokeball containing the offending Druddigon off into the nearest chasm, as punishment for what it did to you. But you don't, because if you survive your wounds and escape this place with your life, you're going to introduce her to Howard, and the two can have themselves a little reckoning, so to speak. Well, you also don't do it because it'd be Pokemon abuse, and you don't want June snitching and getting you convicted. Oh, and you also don't do it because it's not kind, but that should've been obvious.

"The rocks... They're at the top... The top of the FUCKING TOWER..." You groan, reaching an arm up to gesture vaguely upwards. "That's like... Another twenty floors... It's so over, lady... IT'S SO FUCKING OVER..."

Well, this is bad. Very not good, to be certain. At least it can't get much worse, though.

THWUMP! In what can only be an act of Arceus, who is no doubt delivering retribution upon you for your many years of sinning, a stray Gligar descends upon your face, and proceeds to poisonously sting you.

"...AaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--"

You do eventually catch the Gligar, though. There's a lot more screaming and a lot more pain, but you do eventually get him! Eventually.

---

Catching Gligar.
june sleigh

You're getting the sense that the team might not all be on the same wavelength here. You say that, because Grigori is walking in one direction, and Howard is walking in another. Are those two really splitting up? In an alternate dimension that neither of them are particularly familiar with? A dimension that was full of very nasty and very lethal surprises? Did these two never watch Red Fog of Terror? No. No way in hell. As leader of Team Zepslaykov (NAME PENDING), you can't allow this blatantly and obviously bad decision to happen. You need to stick together, you need to have each other's backs, and more than anything else, you NEED to stop Howard from making those dogshit noodles.

Thinking quick, you reach down to your belt, and toss out two Pokeballs. From the first emerges Golurk, a reliable stalwart of your team, and veteran of many missions. Out from the second plops Quagsire, who... tries, bless his heart. They're both Ground types, so they should be more than capable of carrying out their mission here.

"Golurk, watch the base. Make sure nothing gets stolen, destroyed, or otherwise vandalised. Got it?"

CONFIRMATION: AFFIRMATIVE.

"And Quagsire... Go annoy Howard Slayte. As much as you possibly can. Until he has no choice but to leave. Got it?"

"OOO! That's a goodly job for me! Mister Grovyle and Miss Cacturne say I do that to them all the time! Okay dokay, I go to Sloward Hayte now. Have a nicely time, Zhrep!"

With that, the gigantic golem and the merry axlotl leave, returning to the camp to perform their thankless yet necessary duties. Truly, you are a master strategist, your every Pokemon a piece on a chessboard, always thinking a dozen moves ahead. Pleased with a bit of delegation well done, you turn on your heels and rush off, eager to catch up with the other half of the team.

"Wait up, Greg!"

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

Despite all of Navy's enthusiasm, you're not shaken. This match is a done deal. With Pelipper out of the way, Lokix and Grimmsnarl can leverage the numbers advantage and handily defeat the lone Kingdra. Still, the bird has one last move left in her, and with what remains of her energy, she calls forth a great gale of frost to descend upon the field. A powerful attack, to be sure, but it's closer to a deathrattle than a battlecry. Both of your Pokemon brace themselves through the cold, and as the wintry winds begin to die down, their two silhouettes stand tall amidst the mist and the haze.

Now, all that's left is to handle the Draco Meteors descending upon them. Luckily, that won't be too hard. Grimmsnarl's fae ancestry will protect it against the destructive power of this falling star, and though Lokix is hardly the quickest bug in the hive, he's still quick enough to dodge this attack.

"Nice try, Navidson, but you can't stop the jaws of defeat from closing!" You gloat, revelling in your coming victory. "Let me show you just how fucked you are: Lokix, dodge that comet with a Bounce!"

...Nothing. Through the fog and the chill, Lokix does not move.

"Ah, I get it. Sneaky, aren't you? Alright, nail that beast with a Sucker Punch!"

...Again, nothing. The bug's shadow remains still as a statue. Not even so much as a peep escapes his mandibles.

"...Lunge. Throat Chop. Axe Kick! ANYTHING!"

...Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. NOTHING.

"LOKIX, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

The last remants of the whiteout melt away, and your heart sinks. It turns out, the water beneath their feet wasn't the only thing that froze. Standing there, amidst this transformed battlefield, Lokix is FROZEN SOLID in a block of ice. Damn it! Part of you wants to look over to Navy, to see if this was all part of his ploy, but you stop yourself. No, you can't get distracted now. You can still salvage this!

"GRIMMSNARL! GET LOKIX OUT OF THE WAY!"

...Nothing. But unlike his "partner", Grimmsnarl is not frozen. Sure, snow is tangled in his hair, and his green skin is mettled with frostbite, but he is otherwise unhindered. And yet, he still just stands there and watches as the meteors descend, hitting his helpless ally head-on. It's hard to tell, but in the split-second before the impact, you thought you saw a crooked grin upon his face.

BOOM!

Your vision is blurred and your ears are ringing. Being so close to the collision hurts like a shotgun blast to the face. As the initial shock fades, you peer past the smoke and the chaos, trying to assess the situation, only to be met by the limp body of Lokix being hurled out. The bug lands at your feet, crumpled and unconscious. There's no doubt about it - He's done. But, he wasn't thrown back by the force of the meteor, no. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he was almost intentionally tossed back to you. Immediately, your eyes lock onto the likely culprit.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Don't presume to lecture me, Paul." The monster's voice cuts through the cacophony like a hot knife and stabs in your brain like a searing spike, infuriating and intimidating in equal measure. "I have no interest in fraternizing with vermin beyond what is absolutely necessary. Now, hold your tongue, and keep your idiotic commands to yourself! I, and I alone, shall prove more than sufficient to gut this lowly excuse for a Leviathan."

You want to argue, to reprimand him, to punish him, to bite back. But, you don't. Loathe as you are to admit it, you need him to fight, and if you get on his bad side here, you're certain that he'll throw the match just to spite you. So, you keep quiet. You don't like it, but you don't have to like it, you have to win. It's a Dragon-type against a Fairy-type. How hard could it be?

---

Lokix is KO'd, and Grimmsnarl uses its turn monologuing.
Navy

From the shallow grave emerged a great pillar of burning violet, a complete and utter incineration of the victim. Within that inferno, any evidence that they had ever been murdered was erased by the flames, chains broken and ties severed. All that remained was a burnt and blackened body, a stain of a silhouette amidst the burning brilliance, meaningless to society.

It's kind of beautiful, in a macabre sort of way. Of course, you're not much one for beauty, are you? And as you watch his impassive act of destruction, you get the sense he isn't, either.

Then again, what do you know? As much as you like to think you're pals, you barely even know the guy. Not in the same way you know howard slayte or Navy. When you really think about it, how much do you really know Zev Harcourt? As the inferno begins to fade down to embers and wisps, you take a moment to think about it: He's a Rocket Beast, which you've gathered makes him someone you're obligated to respect. Despite that, there's something about the way he carries himself that separates him from his ilk, the sort that like to dresses in five-figure outfits while gossiping about their corporate acquisitions and their celebrity spouses and their supposedly godlik" powers. But what is that "something", exactly? No matter how hard you stroke your chin or crease your forehead, you can't seem to put your finger on it.

And then, an opportunity to poke the Ursaring presents itself. Drinks with the boys? The perfect time to ask questions that'll assuredly turn his tolerance of you into disdain? The corners of your lips curve up into a barely-perceptible smile. This can only go well.

"Sure thing, boss."

---

Zev Harcourt

C'mon, why was Grigori bitching at him? Carrying shit was the cushy gig here! Howard would probably get crushed by a landslide or fall off a cliff, and you were liable to get gouged by copper wires or electrocuted to a crisp. But carrying shit? Carrying shit was easy, especially when you were built like a Mudsdale. Really, the enforcer just needed to shut up and take the smooth ride, especially after that stupid self-sacrifice shit that he tried to pull. Honestly...

But, that was enough about that. At the end of the day, setting up this camp was the secondary reason you came here. The first and foremost reason, as usual, was to explore this unknown land. You're not sure what you're looking for, exactly, but you're sure you'll find it eventually. Somewhere like this has so many mysteries that if you look long enough, you're sure to stumble upon some answers eventually.

And what better place to start than with the strange beasts that wandered this land? There was just one problem with that...

"Buddy, you think I know?" You cross your arms, looking at Howard as though he's the stupidest man in the world. "They're aliens, Howard. You think I can talk to aliens?"

...Actually, he probably does. For all of his college learning and life experience, the archaelogist is more than a little sheltered. He probably thinks drugs are called shit like "wacky baccy" and "diamond dust", and that they give you profane knowledge in exchange for sending your soul directly to hell. Then again, he also thinks that's what computers do, so...

"Look, if you want to take a field trip, then by all means, let's go." You jerk your thumb towards the door, before turning your head to glance out at the distant Xurkitree. "But don't presume me some kind of otherwordly sage. I don't know shit about these guys."

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

This looks like dogshit.

That's your first thought as you look around your surroundings. In a sense, even wasting mental energy on that thought is redundant, because just one glance at your miserly excuse for a "base" is enough to make that so exceedingly obvious that it doesn't even require conscious throught. You've seen better camps at Burning Machamp, and those were built by immigrants and addicts. Not that there's anything wrong with immigration or drugs, mind; Arceus knows you've done your fair share of both. In fact, maybe that's the problem? If Howard had been from Alola, and if he had been high on smack the entire time, maybe your base camp would be worth a damn. But alas, he is not, and alas, your base camp is not, in fact, worth a damn.

So in that sense, the idea of going outside into this desolate hellscape is almost appealing. Partly because it's better than loitering around a base that looks worse than your apartment, and partly because the longer you can put off eating Howard's "rock salt noodles", the better. Sure, a giant electrical monster might send a teravolt of lightning through your veins, but at the very least, it won't scour the sensation of taste from your tongue for days on end.

With a groan, you pull yourself out of your cheap folding chair. As the leader of Team Shrigorward (NAME PENDING), you were responsible for overseeing this endeavour, a lofty responsibility assigned to you alone, by you alone, and not acknowledged by anyone with actual power nor either of your team-mates. So, with that in mind, it was time for a good old fashioned strategy briefing.

"Alright, Grigori can carry the equipment, Howard can scout the path, and I'll punch any monsters that try and get in the way. That sound like a plan for everyone else?"

---

howard slayte Grigori Sokolov

"Yeah..."

You don't even sound like you really believe it, but after the day you've had, can you really be blamed? This was a near-unmitigated disaster, and it's only "near" because you managed to get out with a few Tera shards, and that'll probably pay out enough for you to drown your sorrows. But you've already moved on from depression to acceptance - Flappy Pidgey is gone. You'll never experience that dopamine-pumping gameplay loop ever again, until you reunite in the kingdom of Heaven.

Or, more likely, Hell. You've done a lot of crime in your lifetime, and Arceus knows that Flappy Pidgey was probably responsible for a few dozen car crashes, and at least a few of those were probably manslaughters.

"Golurk, pick him up. We're leaving..."

Wordlessly, the golem picks up the limp body of Howard, and the both of you begin the long walk back to daylight...

...Huh. Your Amigo profile was also on that phone, wasn't it...?

...FUCK.

---

howard slayte

As you look around your isle for any sign of a portal, gateway, or similar means of leaving, your eye catches upon a figure standing on a horizon, sequestered on their own isle far from yours. At first, you just assume it's some kind of shadow demon trying to steal your soul, but a second glance proves more illuminating on the subject. As you squint your eyes, the figure almost seems human, waving its arms about as though trying to get your attention. Are they trying to communicate with you?

Well, there's just one small problem with that...

FHWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM...
"Hey! HEY! YES, YOU, MISS GHOST, MA'AM!"

Yeah, turns out? It's really hard to hear anything here, what with the strange and ominous droning that seems to fill the dead space like water fills the ocean. Now that you've noticed it, it's actually pretty annoying. Is that why this place is so empty? Did all the devils abandon this place to go to a nicer, quieter hell?

"...WHAT?" You attempt to shout over the distorted warble, as though you were at a club where the music was too loud, rather than in an absurdist nightmare dimension that was unknown to common sense. "I DIDN'T HEAR YOU! WHAT DID YOU SAY?"

---

John Sullivan

Yeah, you guess you don't really need to mess with the Orthworm, do you? He's just a guy, having a lovely time, without a care in the world. He's not malicious, he's just blissfully ignorant. Does he even know what crime is? Like, conceptually? Could his little arthropod brain possibly comprehend the idea of murder, or is he unburdened by such sin?

All of that is to say, it's better to just leave well enough alone. Even if you dealt with Orthworm, it was possible some other prankster or scavenger or similar ne'er-do-well would come around and uncover this dirty little secret. So, better to deface and devalue the body, leaving it both unrecognisable to medical examination and inedible as carrion. See, it's this kind of creative, out-of-the-box, and slightly unsettling problem solving that got Zev where he was today. Maybe one day, you'll achieve this same level of morally disturbed problem solving, but until that day, you'll just have to content yourself with following orders.

So, time to burn this body.

"Bitchin'."

No. You are performing the world's most scuffed cremation at the dead of night in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing bitchin' about this in any way, shape, or form.

That aside, you leave Golurk to keep watch of the Orthworm, heading back to pick up your half of the body, and dropping it into the shallow grave below. You'll be glad to be rid of it, because Arceus wept, your arms are sore from lugging it around. Who knew that people were heavier dead than when they were alive? You cast one last glance down to the soon-to-be-ashes, before your gaze shifts over to Chandelure.

"So, what's the play here, chief? Overheat? Fire Blast? Heat Wave?"

---

Zev Harcourt

"...What the fuck is wrong with that Gible?" You ask, so taken aback by the stupid little Gible that you almost, ALMOST, forget to pick up your new money machine. But, after sequestering the infinite paycheck safely into your pocket, you take a few steps over to get a better look at the dragon, and as it happens, a second look doesn't get much better than the first. "It looks like it's been huffing glue. Are you sure it isn't catatonic?"

You prod the beast once, which proves to be a mistake, as its got a hide like sandpaper. You take a sharp breath as your skin is scraped, clenching your teeth as you grip your finger. Y'know what? This is your bad. Clearly, this thing doesn't have any texture on its smooth, smooth brain, so it all had to go somewhere.

"C'mon, that really isn't impressive. This place is completely FULL of dragons. We've seen like, ten of them since we got here. There's probably even one behind me right now!"

...Wait, is there--

"DRUDDIGOOOOOONNNNN!"

"OH FUCK!"

The following tussle is a lot less sticky than your previous wrestle with Goodra, but in exchange, it's also a LOT more painful, and you lose a lot more blood. If you were a rock, this thing would have climbed you ten times over. But in the midst of it viciously mauling you without showing so much as a shred of mercy, you manage to find enough time to frantically grab an empty Pokeball and huck it at the thing's jagged mouth, just as it's preparing to bite your face off.

C'mon, c'mon, please don't break out, please don't break out, please don't break out...!

---

Catching Druddigon.
june sleigh

"Yeah... Yeah! We can get it back. We HAVE to get it back!"

From denial to anger, you now move onwards to bargaining. Yeah, of course! Just because there was a cave-in, that doesn't mean that your phone was destroyed. It could be in there somewhere, hidden between a crack in the rocks or buried under some dirt. All you have to do is find it. It's not too late! You can still save Flappy Pidgey!

"Golurk, get back in there!" You cry out, looking away from Howard and pointing a finger towards the gigantic construct. "Start digging! We need to find my phone, STAT!"

...REJECTION: I cannot oblige your command.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! Why not, you stupid slab of rock? We don't have time for you to give me guff! WE NEED TO RESCUE FLAPPY PIDGEY!"

ANALYSIS: My empathy receptors are detecting a 91.5% coping percentile in your tone of voice. EXPLANATION: Due to safeguardings measures in my programming, I physically cannot adhere to any action that exceeds the delusion threshhold of 80% or higher. CONCLUSION: Your mobile telephone is likely crushed by a boulder. It would be best to simply buy a new one.

...And like that, you sink down from bargaining and down to the depths of depressions.

"...It's SO OVER, HOWARD. It's SO, SO, SO OVER. It has NEVER been more OVER in my ENTIRE LIFE. IT'S. SO. FUCKING. OVER."

---

howard slayte

Things have gotten wet and wild real quick, but unfortunately for you, it's not in a sexy way. Even just standing here, getting lashed by the winds and pelted by the rain, you're not even getting it a fraction as bad as your Pokémon are. You've got your heads above the water now, but if this rain keeps up, then you'll be in trouble.

So, time to dry those skies. As powerful as it might be in this weather, Kingdra is only a symptom of this problem. The real issue here is Pelipper, the source of this drizzle. So…

"Alright boys, new plan: Beat the shit out of that bird!"

"Damned blithering fool!" Grimmsnarl snaps as the wind batters his body. In such blustery conditions, he can barely even keep a hold of Pelipper, let alone attack them. Hair begins to fray and split, and his grip grows looser and looser. "I am perfectly aware of my purpose! If you must prattle at someone, tell that miserly gnat to--"

"...I DESCEND!"

Like a lightning bolt piercing the murk of a storm, a brilliant flash of gold falls upon the battlefield. But unlike what might've been expected, this attack wasn't targeted at Kingdra. No, instead, the aftermath of the Bounce is aimed at Pelipper, a full-power stomp that, if it were to hit, would send the struggling avian falling back down--

"GOT YOU!"

--And right into a shattering Spirit Break from Grimmsnarl.

---

Navy

Wordlessly, you allow your cigarette to be lit by the Chandelure. Truly, having Pokemon perform such menial tasks on your behalf was the height of luxury, especially when that Pokemon was a sentient chandelier. Really, it was just nice to have around. Really brought some sophistication to this miserable little graveyard in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you should get one, too? It'd really spruce up your "apartment", and seeing as how you haven't had electricity for a good few weeks now, a light source wouldn't be bad, either.

Alas, you don't have the luxury of getting lost in your fantasies and/or delusions of grandeur, as you're pulled back to reality by a bump in the night. Immediately after that, Zev orders you to check it out, presumably because he trusts in your competency as a trainer and in the strength of your Golurk, and definitely not because he outranks you and doesn't want to walk back down the hill. Either way, it's up to you.

"Got it. Be back in five."

With a noncommittal wave of your hand, you start to creep towards the source of the noise, with Golurk following close behind. All things considered, you're not too worried about what you might find. More likely than not, it's just some teenage vandals pissing on graves, or a few rowdy Gastly playing tricks on each other. Golurk can handle any of the latter, and as for the former, you've beaten the shit out of your fair share of teenagers, so really, this should be a piece of cake.

Reaching the crest of the hill, you look down and see a sight that is neither teenager or Gastly. However, neither is it police officer or Dusknoir. No, you can't say you really expected this kind of problem, but like it or not, it is a problem.

"Worm?"

It's an Orthworm, bigger than the usual, but not too big, squirming about at the bottom of the hill. Of course, you'd think that wouldn't be a problem, right? It's basically just a big maggot wriggling about in a massive graveyard. Except, well, instead of just festering inside a rotting corpse like a normal person - er, well, like a normal worm - this one seems more content to dig the bodies up and display them freely above ground. You can count no less than seven skeletons strewn about, and its in the process of uncovering an eighth, as though he were howard slayte digging up the fossils of ancient Pokemon, except this worm was a lot more likeable.

Now admittedly, you're no expert in crime scene investigation, but if that worm happened to dig up the body of the journalist you were trying to hide, then, well...

"...Y'know what? This seems like a gray area." You watch the scene unfold with a mixture of confusion, irritation, and amusement. You're not sure what to make of it, you're annoyed that it's making an easy job difficult, but at the same time, it's also pretty funny to watch this silly guy frolick about without a care in the world. Nevertheless, you take a long drag of your cigarette, before looking back directly at Zev. "I'm calling in a second opinion. What do you make of... This?"

---

Zev Harcourt