Fandom Pokémon: Wandering Shadows

[Life.]

Marceline Zavira

The water stretched towards the line of horizon, not a sight of land to be seen. With only the sky and ocean as the views, the vastness of the world settled finally on a young woman's mind. Her eyes traced the surfaces of the waves until the tips of a small creature's ears disrupted the scenery. She gazed upwards and met the big, brown eyes of a Minccino. "We're sure far from home, Meeca." The girl's murmur was met with a soft chirp from the rodent Pokémon.

The Minccino called Meeca slid down from the top of his partner's head down to her shoulder keeping his front paws on her neck. A Ducklett standing next to the pair quacked once to grab their attention. "What's up Della? Did you see the shore of Goldenrod City from the sky?" A single, loud quack from the Ducklett confirmed the girl's question. She bent down and picked up the Ducklett before walking down the deck of the boat they were currently riding on. From the direction the front of the boat was pointing it was clear that it was approaching the coast of Goldenrod City.

Only three days ago was the girl and her companion Pokemon, Meeca and Della, in a whole different part of the Johto region.

"Miss Marceline, we'll be reaching the docks in about twenty minutes," an elderly fisherman stepped from around the controls of the boat and approached the girl and her Pokémon. A lazy Slowpoke groaned slight discomfort as its partner had moved from his station. Its eyes followed the man until an Eevee scurried past it and fell into the same pace of the man's stride until he stopped close to Marceline which it too stopped in its tracks. "Are you sure you'll be fine on your own once we reach the city? You did say you were from up in the mountain regions past Moomoo farms, correct? Goldenrod City is sure a different beast compared to the woods. You can stay with my granddaughter in the city. After all, you did help heal my dear Daisy here," his attention shifted down to the Eevee right by his heels for a moment before they returned to Marceline's face.

"Thank you George. I may take you up on that offer. I will admit I may not have fully thought this through, however, I needed to take my chance or my parents would have held me back." A warm smile lifted up the edges of his beard. He gave a single, slow nod to express his empathy of the situation. "I will notify her of your arrival. This should be her address. I'm sure there's someone at the Pokemon Center, police station, or post office that can point you to the right direction. Now, make sure you have all your belongings and hold on tight to the railings. While I've been sailing these waters for decades, the waves along the coast of Goldenrod City sure aren't forgiving," a soft chuckle followed after his words as he turned around and walked back to his post, Daisy his Eevee following close behind him.

George the fisherman had not been sugarcoating his words to Marceline on the magnitude of the city. She felt her heart pounding faster than its normal rate and her breathing becoming quite shallow when she first found herself on the corner of some streets. Everything about her surroundings was foreign to the girl from the concrete grounds to the bright lights of store signs. Marceline couldn't even lift her head comfortably up to grasp the heights of the buildings in the area.

It was an overload of stimuli to the girl.

On top of the different factors of things around her was the array of auras around people and Pokémon. There were plenty of hues floating about. The Minccino on her shoulder must've sensed her anxiousness as he placed a single paw on her face. His cold pawpads grounded the girl back to reality as her gaze turned to the small Pokemon standing next to her face. "Thanks Meeca." He squeaked happily when he felt how she calmed down a bit. It was only short-lived though as her Ducklett companion quacked for their attention loudly. "What's wrong Della?"

The bird Pokémon was flying close around a body lying on the ground. There was not a lot of people around, but the few that were had walked around the body or crossed the street to avoid it. Marceline jogged over to join her Ducklett on its discovery. As she approached her, Marceline noticed a faint aura around the body. Whatever it was still had some life in it. Strangers gave her an odd look as Marceline stood out with her foreign attire, however, she ignored all the curious looks as her attention focused on what she learned was a Pokemon on the ground. It was a Hondour to be exact. Wounded and defeated on the ground. She knelt down and looked around to see if there was any person responsible for the pup. It bewildered her to think that someone would just leave their Pokémon hurt and alone, however, that seemed to be the reality of the situation. Her amazement strengthened to how indifferent the people were to the weak Pokemon on the ground. She could feel a slight heat of annoyance and anger course through her body as she knelt down and did her best to scoop the canine Pokemon into her arms.

Marceline didn't need to put much effort in lifting the Houndour up which worried her. With the Pokemon in her arms, she took a few steps forward until she realized that she did not know where a Pokemon enter was or really what they looked like. All the buildings were similar in appearance. Fortunately, a woman that was walking with her child noticed the panic expression on Marceline's face, "The Pokemon Center is down this street and to the left. They should be able to help out your poor Houndour there." A small smile of relief appeared on Marceline's face as she gave a slight bow of gratitude, "Thank you." The woman gave a small wave of her hand before she continued her stroll, child in toll.

With a set mission in mind, it was easier for Marceline to explore the city without allowing a sensory overload to disable her. The pressure and weight of the Houndour in her arms calmed her. Following the woman's directions, Marceline was able to find her way to the Pokemon Center. More, new stimuli was exposed to her as she entered in, but Meeca and Della made sure to maintain her focus as both took a few steps forward to lead the way for the girl. A nurse and her Chansey saw the trio and the weak Houndour in Marceline's arms, "Oh dear. Put him on this stretcher." Without wasting a breath, she beelined over to the stretcher and rested the Houndour on it. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"I'm not sure. We found him on the ground just down the road in this condition."
"Okay, give us a bit as we examine him. From what you said, I can safely assume that this Houndour is not your companion?"
"He is not."
"And you did not see anyone around him that was familiar with this Pokemon?"
"No."
The nurse sighed, "Another abandoned Pokemon." Her choice of words piqued Marceline's curiosity, "Another abandoned Pokemon?"
"Yes, it's not uncommon for people to do this, however, it's been on the rise as of recently. People leaving behind their "weak" Pokemon in favor of these new, "stronger", "more obedient" Pokemon." The girl's desire to know more further increased from the nurse's strange use of air quotations around certain words. "You do not have to wait for this Pokemon. We'll take care of him and report it to the police."

The nurse placed her hands on the side of the stretcher getting ready to wheel away the Houndour. "I, uh, I actually want to wait for the Houndour." Marceline cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed on how she tripped over the beginning of her sentence. The nurse's eyebrows raised in surprise, but there was a happy smile on her lips as she gave an eager nod without saying another word and finally took the Houndour to the back.

While Marceline waited, a colleague of the nurse that was taking care of the Houndour, which the girl learned was named Joy, had reached out to the police to report the case. They came fifteen minutes later and started their questioning with the Falu girl. She gave them as much information as she could, but it was very little much to their disappointment, but one did mention similar words that the nurse was saying earlier about the situation.
"Maybe we can get some input from McClean?"
"Maybe. For now, let's get this report sent in the station."

Before the officers left, Marceline approached one of them, "Hi, um, I wanted to know if perhaps you can help direct me to this address I have." She pulled out a small piece of paper that had the fisherman's writing on it. The officer grabbed the paper and read it. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Marceline, "Where did you get this?" The officer's response startled Marceline, "From a kind fisherman named George." Marceline had to take a step back as the aura dancing around the officer was shaking with panic until she heard the name George. "That's my grandfather. He must've helped out another stray," she sighed and crumpled up the paper in her hand, "How did you run into my grandfather?" Marceline told her of her departure from Falu and then crossing paths with George at some point.

"Well, I do have a couch you can crash on in the meantime. You sound sincere with your story. I guess stay here at the Pokemon Center for now until my shift is over. You're also waiting for the Houndour right?" Marceline nodded, "Yeah. I want to be sure he's going to be okay." The female officer nodded. A Growlithe standing close to her barked once to grab her attention. "Yes Blitz. I know we need to get going. Guess I will be back to grab you-"
"Marceline Zavira."
"Zavira. Unique surname. Officer Jeannie Plutz. You can call me Jean. I will be leaving now. I will be off my shift in about an hour. In the meantime, get situated with the Center and well..." her words trailed off as she examined Marceline from head to toe noticing only a messenger bag with the girl, "We're going to have to get you supplies later. Just stay put." Marceline nodded and took a seat in the closest empty chair with Meeca and Della making themselves comfortable on an adjacent seat.

 

[SkyGinge]

Prelude: The Bust​

Cedars Street, Goldenrod City. It was sunset, the lazy autumn sun sinking slowly behind the skyline like a Snorlax in a mud bath, flimsy golden rays casting dramatic shadows on the road below. A light breeze breathed through the street, unsettling the piles of bronzing leaves that some poor sod had raked into ineffective piles on the street corners. It was a great night for a stroll, where nature’s forces were prevalent enough to humble you with the minuteness of your fleeting existence on this cosmic canvas, and yet not unpleasant enough to make you dash for the warm, comforting embrace of the indoors. Not that anybody in the city had the time in their busy schedules for an aimless walkabout. Even this comparatively backwater road was filled with the plod of purposeful footsteps as men and women in business attire went about their business without so much as a glance up at the world around them.

That’s the paradox of the city, mused the young man with the messy shirt and the scruffy tie. So many people, so many potential connections, and yet we close ourselves off.

Of course, even this keen-eyed observer had an agenda. Hands thrust into his baggy trouser pockets, the man joined the steady stream of foot traffic, sharply aware of the echo of his footsteps. Midway down the street, he extended his arm as to hook himself around the lamppost and change direction towards one of the street’s many tall residential buildings, catching the woman behind him off-guard and nearly causing her to spill her overloaded shopping bag. He climbed the short staircase with a spring in his step, pausing as he reached the door. 76 Cedars Street, grand. It never hurt to double check, even though he’d never gone to the wrong place before.

A sly smile curled his lips as the familiar sensation of butterflies fluttered in his stomach. You should have brought back-up, came his internal voice, which took the form of his foster father’s stern, paternal tones. As if any of the others would have joined me, came the reply in his own voice. Besides, you know I can’t do that. One of these days, he’d open the door to a familiar face. No way he was letting O’Kennedy and Tsuboi see him humiliated by some thug bringing up stories of his shady past.

After a few seconds and after an almighty series of jangles and clangs, the door creaked slightly ajar, a jittering hand emerging from the darkness within. The owner of the hand was a pallid man with shaggy auburn hair, dressed in loose-fitting joggers and a grubby vest. Both clothing and wearer had clearly seen better days – the man squinted out onto the street like a Hoothoot forced to battle in the day.

“What is it?” said the man, his voice gruff and musty.

“DI McClean, Goldenrod Constabulary.” Grey flashed his ID card. At this, the man straightened up from his slouching posture, probably tense, his already beady eyes narrowing further.

“And how can I help you, Mr DI McClean?” Then, hurriedly: “What is this about? I ain’t in trouble, am I?”

“No Grakowski, you ain’t in trouble. Yet.” Grey caught the man’s uneasy gaze for a second, his own grin widening slightly. “Just here to take a quick look around, if that’s no problem.”

“No reason why it should be. Though you probably won’t like all the mess.”

“Oh trust me, I’ve seen far worse.” Grey paused midway through stepping into the dimly lit hallway as the man flattened himself against the wall to let him in. “It is Shaun Grakowski, isn’t it?” It definitely is, I’d recognise those bags under his eyes anywhere. For once, Kelly’s pictures are the real deal. Grakowski nodded in confirmation, though the detective had already turned away, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene around him.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. The air was thick with cheap deodorant – Grey’s smile flickered as he recognised the scent. His first deodorant, the kind of cheap stuff every teenage playboy lathers themselves in. The old man back home had no idea what to buy for a rebellious teenager and just got the first thing he saw on the store shelves. They’d soon learnt to buy a better product – whilst the smell was pungently sweet, it barely functioned at all as an anti-perspirant. Nevertheless, Grey was thankful in that moment for his old man’s rookie mistakes, because his familiarity with the scent helped him to notice the other scent beneath.

It's definitely here, came his internal voice. Told you my hunch was right, Pops.

That’s all very well, but a ‘hunch’ won’t stand as evidence in the court of law, came the internal voice of Oboro. Your job’s not finished until you’ve got something so obvious that even O’Kennedy will believe you.

The house was indeed messy. The lounge light was bare, a broken ceiling-lamp collecting dust on a coffee table which was home to all sorts of knickknacks. DVD cases and clothing articles were scattered just about everywhere in various states of disrepair. The kitchen was the greatest scene of devastation with a mountain of unwashed plates buried under several pizza boxes and a rainbow of food stains on the counter.

“How many stories does this building have?” Grey asked.

“Four,” replied Grakowski as he caught up. His cheeks were flushed red, either with anxiety or embarrassment. “My mum would kill me if she knew I’d let a cop in here with the place like this.”

“Hey, cops like pizza too, you know. Besides, any cop would much prefer the normality of a messy kitchen like this to, you know, an actual crime scene. Unless…” Grey turned with a playful smile, “you’re hiding a body somewhere in one of these cupboards?”

“You’re welcome to check,” said Grakowski, straight-faced.

“I’ll take your word for it. What’s behind this door?”

“That’s the door to the cellar.” As Grey went to turn the handle, the man interjected: “Oh, I wouldn’t go down there if I were you. Cellar’s been flooded since that big old storm last month. We’ve tried to get the plumbers in, but unfortunately they can’t do nothing ‘cause we also got guests down there.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Grey cupped his ear to the door, his grin widening as he recognised the cries from the other side. Quagsires! Just when you think you’ve heard it all.

“You heard them too then, right?” sighed Grakowski. “Harmless fella’s for the most part, though they don’t like nobody going down there. Plumbers can’t get ‘em to budge either, something about Pokemon’s right of habitat or something.”

“The joys of living alongside Pokemon, hey?” Grey grinned.

“I know right, it’s a bloody joke.”

“And when you said we, I take it there’s other occupants in this house?” Grey already knew the answer to this one – another two men were registered at this address, both a similar age to Grakowski. There was no sign of either of them yet, although Grey presumed that some of the scattered clothes had to belong to them by virtue of being far too small for Grakowski’s rotund shape.

“There’s three of us. Me, Bill and Hiro. Upstairs is just our rooms. I can show you around if you want but the boys won’t much like it.”

“How generous. But whilst we’re down here, I’d like to take a look at…”

The garden – a long, narrow patch of land carved off from the neighbouring terraces by a tall, wooden fence on either side. The difference compared to the interior rooms was immediately uncanny.

“The garden’s looking very neat, isn’t it?”

“It is? I wouldn’t know.” Grakowski joined him outside, arms crossed in defence against the sharpness of the evening breeze. “Look, are you going to tell me what all this is about or what? You can’t just barge into people’s homes, you know. If you tell me what you’re looking for then I can maybe help you find it.”

“You’re helping plenty enough as is, Grakowski. Besides, if I do that, there’s also nothing stopping you from just hiding it from me.”

“Suit yourself. I don’t got no secrets to hide.”

The garden was roughly split in two, with a tidy stone path running the full length to a back gate with a double padlock, just past a shed which looked rather worse for wear. On the other side parallel to the path was a long flowerbed, with a greenhouse glass overhang providing additional shelter from the elements. Grey’s grin wavered slightly as he knelt down to examine the plants. Now I’m certainly no horticulturist, but this doesn’t look right at all. Though neatly maintained and trimmed, the entire flowerbed was full of nothing but ordinary bushes and the occasional weed. No flowers in sight, and certainly nothing which matched the description he was looking for.

“Where are your buddies, anyhow?” Grakowski was pacing now. “You a lone wolf or something?”

“I’m a private eye. I work better alone, and I get to do all my own stunts. The only pals I need are right here.” Grey reached inside his coat pocket, retrieving a Pokeball which he pressed open. Erlie the Kirlia materialised on the path beside him. Grakowski snorted, evidently amused by the surprising choice of partner Pokemon. Erlie took one look at the dishevelled man, then turned and put its hand on Grey’s arm. I know buddy, you don’t need to tell me he’s a walking red flag right now. Human instinct is enough this time.

After brushing past a couple more plants, Grey cursed under his breath. None of this makes sense. I know what I smelt in the corridor – this is definitely the place. And for an operation this big, there’s no chance they’re producing it in the bedrooms. Yet… nothing. Either he’s a lot more competent than he seems or this is the first time my intuition has failed me.

“Let’s move it along, Mr DI. I ain’t catching a cold watching you and your little Poke-girlfriend admiring the flowers.”

“Very well,” conceded Grey, rising to his feet, Erlie sheltering behind his leg out of the embarrassment of being misgendered once again. His remaining options ran through the defeated detective’s mind. Major could be useful in sniffing it out, but he’d more likely just get distracted by a Pidgey or something. You win this time, Grakowski, but I’m not beaten yet.

Then, just as he turned to go, he heard it – a nearby Pokemon cry, distinct in the urban soundscape, followed by the sound of something rustling in shrubbery. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grakowski straighten up, evidently hearing the same thing. His smile returning, the detective walked briskly towards the direction of the sound, crouching again to examine the foliage. On second inspection what had first appeared as a common weed suddenly clicked into place.

“The garden’s very nice, Grakowski. But it looks like you might be suffering with a little bit of a sentience problem.”

With that, Grey grabbed the three-leaved creature and yanked it from the soil. As the Oddish cried out in terror, it instinctively released a cloud of spores, bombarding the detective with a familiar musty scent which dulled his senses and briefly stunned him. As his vision slowly cleared, his expression suddenly warped into solemn intensity. Not only were these dumbasses running a drugs operation, but they’d found a way of using Pokemon to produce their substances.

Grakowski reached for his pockets, his hands trembling as he pulled out a pistol and aimed it straight at the stunned detective. With a bang that punctured the serene evening quiet, the unmasked criminal pulled the trigger, gritting his teeth and turning away out of a half-baked sense of guilt. As nearby birds chirped and scattered into the darkening horizon, the reluctant murderer turned back to face his victim.

Except instead of a bloodied body on his beautiful garden path, Grakowski found the bullet suspended in mid-air, surrounded by a purplish glow.

“My partner is more than just a pretty face, Mr Grakowski,” said Grey as he stood, readying his own firearm.

“What is this,” the criminal growled in disbelief.

“A bust. Now, drop the gun and we can do this the proper way.”

Grakowski gulped audibly. “And the proper way is?”

“Well, I’ll say something along the lines of ‘Mr Grakowski, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the possession, creation and distribution of a Class 3 illegal substance.’ You drop your weapon, slip into this comfy pair of handcuffs and come to the station with me. We get back in time for dinner – and it’s your lucky day, because it’s chippy tea night. You then plead guilty to all charges and you’ll be out of prison within a decade if you play nice. Alternatively, you keep firing that at me and you’ll also be charged with possession of illegal firearms, attempted murder of an officer of the law-“

“Alright that’s enough yapping, you’ve made your point. Boys, get him!”

The shed door shattered open into shards of decaying wood. In its place stood another, shorter man whose shaven head and punk-style pierced earlobes identified him as Bill Dyson, Grakowski’s housemate and collaborator. Flanking him were a group of five angry-looking Quagsires. Of course, Grey’s grin twinged in disbelief, but also damn, really? I’ll never trust a Quagsire again.

…

“And then?” interrupted O’Reilly for at least the fifth time, his wide eyes inflated with fascination like excitable Jigglypuffs.

“And then all the naughty police officers went back to their desks,” came a new voice.

On the busy central street of the largest city in Johto, a couple of buildings down the road from the famous skyline-conquering radio tower, there stood the Goldenrod City Constabulary Offices™, a rather more inconspicuous establishment. Its exterior was virtually indistinguishable from its neighbouring high-rise siblings, its brickwork painted in the same layer of fading yellow as most of the city. Even the sign that read ‘police’ in neon lettering had been dulled by time’s unforgiving hand.

Beyond the busy reception hall, down the corridor on the right and past the first staircase, there stood the junior constabulary office. There, within the labyrinth of desks and computers, a certain scruffy detective enraptured fellow young officers with tall tales of his exploits. The new voice belonged to Chief Constable Manna Hahoyao, who had entered the office with a tray of carefully prepared mugs of coffee, and whose slight smile somewhat undermined the sharpness of her tone.

Ever the traditionalist, Officer Tsuboi stood to his feet and saluted. “DI McClean was just sharing last week's field report, ma’am!”

“Is that what this is?” the chief intoned, balancing the tray between one arm and her hip as her other arm manually brought Tsuboi’s salute back down to his side. Gray smirked as his colleague’s cheeks flushed red. At least you didn’t call her ‘mum’ this time, mate.

The chief was a giant of a woman, easily taller than anybody else in the office, yet with the quiet presence of a doe Stantler. Too nice for her own good, that woman, Oboro had once remarked. If even Goldenrod couldn’t harden her then I doubt anything else will. Each of the officers took turns to retrieve their usual mugs and thank the woman who brought it – some took the time to inspect its contents, as if the colour and mixture wouldn’t be the same as it always was. Gray’s mug was plain grey, which always amused him.

“I take it that means your written report is ready and waiting in my inbox, Gray?” the chief asked with a knowing smile.

“It will be,” Gray smiled back innocuously. I just need to actually write it now, added his rueful internal monologue. Just what he needed – another late night in the office drowning in paperwork, when there was actual work waiting to be done outside.

A couple of mugs remained unclaimed on the tray, and the chief scanned the room for their owners. “Where’s Jean and Cyndy?”

“Out on duty, ma’am,” Tsoboi responded, “just a simple abandoned Pokemon job, it shouldn’t take them too long.”

“Another one, huh,” Hahoyao sighed, her shoulders slumping pensively. The familiarity of her tone peaked Gray’s attention. Missing or abandoned Pokemon were commonplace in a place as big and as busy as this, but if cases really were increasing as much as he suspected then it’d only be a matter of time before he’d be landed with the impossible job of trying to find some kind of connection.

“Well, back to work then,” said the chief as she reached the door, her gaze centring in on the young detective. “And if you’ve got time to distract my juniors with story-time, then you’ve definitely got time to finish that report.”

Alright mum, you’ve made your point, Gray grumbled internally. As the door slammed shut behind her, the four young officer’s gazes lingered on the door, as if expecting the boss to suddenly reappear. After a long pause, they then turned to face Gray again. Or, more specifically, the table beside him, where a lone Oddish snoozed blissfully.

“So you’re telling me this little guy is… or was…” Officer Kelly’s sentence trailed off, as was her custom.

“Yep,” Gray nodded, “this is the Oddish from the story.”

“This Oddish was involved in the drugs operation?”

“Not just involved, O’Reilly. He was the drugs operation. Along with a bunch of other Oddish and Gloom, which they'd hidden in a secret room underneath the shed when I first knocked on the door. They’d found some way through diet and nutrients to alter the spores given off by the Oddish line into something they could sell.”

O’Reilly snorted, throwing his gangly frame back on his swivel-chair in faux-indignation. “And you figured that out how?”

Gray shrugged coyly. “The clue’s in the Pokedex entry. It is the ‘weed’ Pokemon after all.”

O’Reilly shook his head. “Your mind is a weird and wonderful place, McClean. Anyway, what happened next?”

“No, that’s enough storytelling for today,” Tsuboi dismissed, as he dragged O’Reilly’s chair back over to his desk. “We have our own paperwork to sort.”

Grey had his own office, but barely. His room was a small, narrow box at the end of the junior constabulary office, with a big glass window allowing him to see the other young officers at work, and also for them to see him. There was some level of soundproofing, but he’d quickly discovered that his colleagues were able to hear more of his conversations than he’d have liked. The room was tight and compact, with only just enough room for his desk, which housed a couple of piles of illegible notes, a dim lamp and his laptop, a chair on either side of it, and a couple of filing cabinets behind the doorway. Despite the light filtering in from the neighbouring office, he kept the room dim and moody – he found it helped him to concentrate.

As far as Gray was concerned, whoever invented paperwork deserved to be put behind bars themselves. What was the point in being a ‘Private Investigator’ by name if he still had to follow the same tedious legal procedures as a standard cop? He slumped himself down in his chair, which span him around as he tapped his mug contemplatively.

A small, three-clawed hand thrust a pen into his hand. The young detective looked down and found his faithful Sneasel gazing up at him from beneath the desk, its eyes poking out from underneath a trilby hat which was far too big for its hat.

“I know, buddy,” he sighed. Those notes weren’t going to write themselves.