The air in the "Rusty Ace" scrapyard was thick with the scent of iron and oil. High atop a throne of crushed sedans, the Alpha Scraggy stood. It was larger than any of its kind, its molted skin sagging in heavy, leathery folds around its waist like oversized trousers. Below it, Machoke cracked its knuckles. The sound was like dry wood snapping. It wanted this territory, and Scraggy was the only thing in its way.
Without a cry, Scraggy dropped. It launched, tucking its head into its chest.
Machoke crossed its massive arms just in time. The collision sent a shockwave through the dirt, kicking up a cloud of rust.
Machoke stumbled back, its heels digging grooves into the gravel. It grunted, a low, gravelly sound of respect, before lunging forward. Its hand shot out like a piston, catching Scraggy by the neck, swinging the smaller pokemon into the side of a discarded refrigerator, the metal crumpling with a loud bang.
Scraggy slid down the dented metal, leaving streak in the paint. It shook its head, a manic glint in its eyes as it yanked its shed skin back up to its chin.
Machoke let out a rhythmic grunt, its muscles rippling under its skin as it gathered momentum to charg again. Across the clearing, Scraggy hissed, its head glowing with a faint, dark energy as it prepared to counter the incoming force.
They were seconds away before the impact, when the ground erupted.
Krokorok surged from the ground like a breaching shark, its jaws snapping in the air as it landed.
Machoke skidded to a halt, its feet spraying gravel as it threw its arms out for balance.
Scraggy was forced to twist mid-air, tumbling awkwardly and landing in a crouch, its skin bunching up around its feet.
Before either could react to the sudden third fighter, a glint of polished metal streaked through the air. A Leaden Ball flew from the shadows behind a pile of scrap, and connected with a solid thunk against the back of Scraggy's head.
Scraggy grunted, stumbling forward a step as the specialized ball snapped open. A pulse of energy engulfed it, the magnetic field of the Leaden Ball trying to force the capture. The pokemon's form began to distort, and pulled inward. The ball wobbled on the ground once... and Scraggy burst out.
From the top of shattered car frames, two figures looked down.
Anne stood with one hand on her hip, a sleek, metallic suitcase open at her feet. Inside, nestled in foam, were dozens of specialized pokeballs: Nest Balls, Dusk Balls, Heavy Balls, each chosen for this specific environment and quarry.
"Told you the first one wouldn't hold it." She said, her voice cheerful but focused. "But it got its attention."
Beside her, Elias stood poised, his trench coat flapping slightly in the breeze. His grey mask was in place, the lenses fixed on the disoriented but furious Alpha below. He said nothing, simply holding out a hand.
Anne plucked a Heavy Ball from the case and slapped it into his palm.
"Heavy Ball. Increased mass. Might slow its struggle."
Elias took it and drew his arm back and threw. The Heavy Ball flew, striking Scraggy squarely in the chest as it turned to snarl at this new annoyance. It opened, engulfing the pokemon once more.
The ball wobbled on the ground… once… twice... then it burst open. Scraggy erupted from the confinement, more enraged than before. It kicked the Heavy Ball away, sending it clattering into a pile of hubcaps.
"Persistent, isn't he?" Anne remarked, handing Elias another ball.
The cycle began. She handed Elias ball after ball, enraging the Scraggy more and more until there was nothing left inside the suitcase.
Anne snapped her suitcase shut.
"That's it for the fancy stuff. Down to basics." She unclipped a standard pokeball from her own belt and tossed it to him.
Elias caught it. He looked down at the Scraggy, now focusing its malice directly on him. It lowered its head, its skull glowing with a menacing dark pulse.
Elias drew his arm back, and waited for the exact moment Scraggy began its charge.
The pokeball left his fingers. It was a flat, low-velocity line—a precision strike aimed not at where Scraggy was, but where it was going to be.
Scraggy ignited its charge, its head lowered like a battering ram. It was a split second from launching off the ground when the red-and-white sphere collided with its glowing forehead. It was sucked inside in a swirl of red light, the momentum of its charge carrying the pokeball forward until it hit the concrete and began to roll. It came to a stop right below the scrap where Elias and Anne are standing.
The ball tilted violently to the left. The ground beneath it cracked slightly from the sheer physical force Scraggy was exerting from the inside. It snapped to the right, the center button flashing a frantic, rhythmic crimson. The ball leaped off the ground entirely, vibrating with the rage of a pokemon that refused to be tamed. It hung in the air for a heartbeat, the metallic casing groaning under the pressure.
Then a click echoed through the yard.
The light faded. The vibration stopped. The pokeball settled into the dust, dead silent and perfectly still.
"You caught it, Elias! You caught an Alpha pokemon!" Anne broke the silence with a cheerful tone. "You got one before Rein and me."
Elias stood still for a long moment, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. He raised Krokorok's ball, and a beam of red light shot, enveloping Krokorok.
He looked to where Machoke had been standing, ready to resume its challenge, but the spot was empty.
Anne followed his gaze and shrugged, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Must have gotten scared and run away once it saw you actually catch the big guy."
Elias nodded slowly, then descended the unstable mountain of scrap. Anne followed, leaping nimbly from a washing machine to a car door before landing lightly beside him. He walked to the still pokeball, reached down, and picked it up. It was warm to the touch, as if containing a banked fire.
He held it up, examining it through the grey lenses of his mask. Inside this ordinary sphere was a creature of immense will, an Alpha Pokemon.
"Let's go back to the Pokemon Center." Anne said, brushing rust dust from her sleeves. "I don't want to stay in this scrapyard anymore."
Elias clipped the ball on his belt, then strapped his coat.
"I don't think we can escape this rusty smell. We're in Scrapyard City after all." He said, approaching a crushed frame of a bike.
"Well, the Pokemon Center is the only place without scraps." Anne replied, looking up at the sun.
"Let me change first." Elias said, lifting the mask off his head.
***
Back at their temporary safehouse on the edge of the scrapyard, the atmosphere was warm.
Elias had just laid his folded trench coat and collapsed mask into the open suitcase. Anne untied the braid holding her pink hair back. It fell in a cascade of soft waves around her shoulders, instantly softening her sharp appearance.
Her eyes then darted to the second, smaller suitcase lying open on a workbench. Inside, nestled beside Elias's few other items, was his black leather jacket.
Before Elias could reach for it, Anne snatched it up. She gave him a quick, unreadable glance and then slid her arms into the sleeves. The jacket was a bit large on her, the shoulders slightly broad, but she zipped it up tight. It effectively concealed her Xycle uniform beneath.
Elias paused, his hand still outstretched. He looked down at himself. Beneath his own discarded coat, he wore a plain, long-sleeved black shirt and a green cargo pants. He met Anne's gaze. She raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge. Argue with me, it seemed to say.
He gave a faint shrug and let his hand fall.
"Better?" He asked, his voice quiet.
"Much!" She said, rolling the sleeves up to her wrists. She did a little spin. "Do I look like a charming, slightly messy explorer of industrial wastelands?"
"You look like Scraggy." Elias stated flatly, though there was no malice in it.
"Rude. And after I helped you catch it, too." Anne stuck her tongue out at him.
Elias didn't respond. He was focused on the small, inner pocket of his suitcase. His fingers closed around a slim, hard case. He withdrew it, flipped it open, and carefully took out a pair of glasses with thin, steel-grey frames. The lenses were clear but had a faint, almost imperceptible blue tint.
For the last two days, ever since the mission in Maribell Town, the world had been subtly but persistently off. Distant signs blurred together. Fine details on machinery or people's expressions softened into vague shapes. It was a strain, a constant, low-grade ache behind his eyes that intensified with focus. When he'd mentioned it in a routine check-in, Sarah's diagnosis had been swift and clinical.
"It's the mask's grey lenses. Constant use, especially in low-light or high-stress situations, forces your eyes to compensate. They're straining to see more contrast, more clarity than the filter allows. It's a known occupational hazard for prolonged wear. You'll need corrective lenses when you're not using it."
At the time, he'd merely acknowledged the information. Now, holding the glasses, it felt like an admission of weakness.
He hesitated for a moment, then slid the glasses onto his face. The world snapped into hyper-clarity.
The grain of the wooden workbench became distinct. The individual strands of Anne's pink hair regained their sharpness. The dust motes dancing in the slanting light from the safehouse window were no longer a blurry haze. The relief was immediate, the tension behind his eyes melting away, replaced by a cool, precise focus. It was a different kind of clarity than the mask offered—not a narrowed, tinted view of the world, but an expansion of it.
Anne watched him, her playful smirk fading. She saw the slight, unconscious relaxation in his shoulders, the way his eyes, now magnified and sharp behind the lenses, scanned the room with intensity.
"Glasses, huh?" She said, her voice softer. "Commander Sarah's orders?"
Elias gave a single nod, adjusting the frame slightly on the bridge of his nose.
"The mask strained my vision. These are a… countermeasure."
"They suit you." Anne said, and she meant it. The glasses gave his pale, often-blank face a touch of scholarly focus. "Makes you look like a researcher. Or a librarian who always scold students from raising their voice."
Elias met her gaze through the clear lenses. Her expression was open, curious, without pity. He found he preferred this assessment to Sarah's cold practicality.
"Let's go."
***
The walk to the Pokemon Center was uneventful. The scrapyard's chaos gave way to the patched-together order of Scrapyard City's streets.
As they navigated the streets, Anne's demeanor shifted from playful to pensive. She kept her voice low, a murmur meant only for Elias's ears.
"You know, when the Boss gave us our assignments, I thought he was just sending us here to watch. But I didn't expect Team Rocket to actually be here. Well, besides Giovanni. He's not here. Only half of their forces led by Archer." She glanced at him, her expression serious behind the borrowed leather jacket's collar. "Our primary objective is to watch, and second is to wait for Commander Sarah's order. But if that call doesn't come soon, I'll infiltrate Team Rocket myself. I can't take what they are doing anymore. I mean we're painted as bad guys too, right? But they are much more badder."
"Our orders are to watch and wait." Elias stated.
"And letting Rocket carve out a foothold in this city?" Anne countered, her patience thinning. "This place is a logistics nightmare for the League. Perfect for a syndicate to sink roots. They get a hold here, they control parts flow to half the region. That impacts our operations too, eventually. Waiting for a call that might come too late isn't strategy, it's passivity."
Elias studied her. He saw the emotion she was no longer bothering to conceal—a deep-seated revulsion, a line she felt Rocket had crossed that even Xycle hadn't.
"You're motivated by anger." He simply replied.
"No, I'm not! It's just... Team Rocket is doing too much." Anne finished, her voice tight. "They're not just stealing resources or bullying trainers. At the docks… I've seen the manifests they intercept. It's not just machine parts. It's live pokemon shipments."
She looked away, her fists clenched inside the jacket pockets.
"We use pokemon as tools too, Elias. I'm not naive. But there's a line. We work with them, they're extensions of our will, our purpose. Team Rocket… they break them down. They strip away everything until there's just obedience or component parts."
Elias was silent. The clarity of his glasses felt almost intrusive now, letting him see the minute tremor in Anne's lower lip, the genuine disgust twisting her features. He remembered the bond he'd felt in the tournament, the trust, the shared joy. The idea of that being processed into something cold sparked a strange, cold flare in his own chest—not the hot anger Anne felt, but a profound, unsettling dissonance.
"I understand." He said, the words simpler than the confusion inside him. "But we'll wait."