“Kenta . . .” whispered Hibiki, but that was all he could say. Kenta was rocking on his heels, not taking his eyes off of Eagun’s body, in his own little trance.
“This feeling . . . it always goes away eventually, but it comes back, too. Every time this cold, hard wake-up slap of death interferes with life, I always think: what’s the point?”
Somebody pushed in next to Hibiki, but he didn’t take heed. All of his attention was on Kenta, and his fear that, once again, he was breaking down in mid-mission. Yet Kenta was always so focused on the task at hand, that he never seemed to take time out to unload his personal thoughts for more than a minute. Perhaps it was healthy that he was getting it out now.
“Death is going to claim all of us,” Kenta observed, eyes still on Eagun. “It didn’t get me before, but it will simply get me later. Same goes for the people who conceived G.R.I.P., and all the folks who will enforce it afterward. So is scurrying back and forth, here and there, really serving any purpose at all?
“Look at Eagun. Look at that long beard, those sagely wrinkles, that whitened hair. He had a long time on this stage, to figure out what he was meant to do. All of our feelings, our clear knowledge of right from wrong, and our renewed strength to overcome everyday struggles, these testify that somebody up there is still interested in us. How much time did he need to figure this out? We honor him now, so does that mean he was able to honor his maker when he was alive?
“Is that what life is really about . . . ? Honoring your maker?”
Interesting how it always comes back to God, thought Hibiki, placing an arm around Kenta’s shoulder as his brother fought to maintain his composure, a fist on his lips. Seeing death always seems to leave one yearning anew to give his life meaning.
Kenta took a few more seconds to rise out of his pool of deep thought, before he finally lowered his shoulders and relaxed his muscles. However, before Hibiki could say something to comfort him, somebody else, said “excuse me.” Turning around, Hibiki almost swallowed his tongue in shock. Standing directly beside him, still in his dusty black mourning clothes, was Wes himself. Yuki stood behind him, her eyes trained warily on Kenta. Wes put out his hand and motioned to Kenta, indicating towards the door, face expressionless. “I’m going out for a smoke. Care to join me?”
***
Once they were outside, Kenta and Wes were more or less alone. Hibiki sat himself upon a tree root protruding out of the ground, a short distance away, so that Wes would get the direct impression that Kenta would be doing the talking for them. The former Snagem member didn’t look at them at first, but leaned on the fence near a close-by ledge and gazed out at the horizon. Pulling a pack of D-Stix out of his pocket, he lit up and offered Kenta one. Kenta waved his hand dismissively, and Wes nodded, pocketing the rest.
“Don’t ever start smoking, man,” he said in a monotonous voice, even as the wisps of nicotine puffed out of his mouth. “Awful friggin’ habit. I’ll be with old Eagun sooner than later if I don’t get my act together.” He shot a glance at Kenta. “I think about death a lot, these days.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette, and blew out the smoke, looking frustrated. “I really thought I’d carried out my purpose for living. But now the whole ruling force of Japan has become one great big Cipher. So what was the point in what I did?”
Kenta remained quiet. Wes stood leaning on his fence and staring at the expanse of land beyond the village for a few more seconds.
“So, why are you here?” he finally asked. “Did you come for inspiration? Because inspiration is lying in a coffin inside.
“No, you couldn’t have. You didn’t know where you were going.” Wes turned again to look at Kenta, but this time, he kept his eyes on him. They were alert, focused. “You were on the wrong side of the Orre region, yet you asked nobody for directions.”
“What makes you say-?” Kenta began, but Wes held up a hand to cut him off. “Yuki recognized you from the diner, even with your hoods on,” he said calmly. “But beside that, I know Willie. He phoned me during the ride over, sending a warning that you were chasing us. I figured that I wouldn’t try to lose you, because you would soon see that we had nothing to hide anyway.”
He was completely prepared, thought Hibiki, his veins pulsing as he took in Wes’s words. This guy really does live up to his reputation. Are we ready for him?
“So, why didn’t you shed your cloaks?” Wes asked calmly, observing Kenta’s stone face. “If not for Willie, you might have at least avoided Yuki’s suspicions. Is it because you’re even more fearful of revealing who you really are?”
Hibiki gulped. Kenta stared calmly. Wes’s eyes were blazing. “Are you the revolutionary from Johto, the imposter Champion Birch?”
“H-how . . .?” Hibiki stammered, unable to keep quiet any longer. “How did you know that?”
“Informed guess,” replied Wes nonchalantly. “He let slip an unflattering comment against G.R.I.P., on top of everything else, so I thought I’d ask. Looks like I was right.” He tossed the remainder of his cigarette on the ground and treaded it with the heel of his shoe. “So that brings us back to my other question: why are you here?”
“Oh, I think you know the answer to that. He wants your Snag Machine.”
Three pairs of eyes shifted to the origin of the new voice, and Hibiki stared at him, thunderstruck. The newcomer, also dressed in black mourning clothes, was none other than the redheaded twelve-year-old boy that they had met yesterday. Wes glared at him, and he returned the expression mutually, and the air between them was thick with tension.
“Maikeru.”
“Wes.”
“You’re not welcome here.”
“The hell I’m not. I knew Eagun just as well as you did. He helped me topple Cipher the second time, while you sat on your ass and did nothing.”
Wes’s eyes flashed. “I resent that. Get out of here- this is sacred ground.”
Maikeru uttered a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I have to leave, but you’re letting this thief stay?” He tilted his head towards Kenta. “Stop acting like you don’t know who he is. You know damn well that this is the criminal from the news, who broke into my laboratory yesterday. He’s even got his little accomplice with him.”
“Is he a thief? I disagree,” said Wes loudly, advancing on Maikeru. “A thief steals things. I heard a lot of crap on the radio about him, but not one report of anything missing from Krane Laboratories. Now you, on the other hand . . .” He was face-to-face with Maikeru. Despite the ten-year age difference, their heights were identical. “I don’t care if you are the prodigy savior of Orre. I may not have done it legally like you, but at least I stopped stealing pokémon after Cipher was detained.” He shook his head, looking into Maikeru’s unyielding eyes. “But . . . look at you. You’ve continued up until this moment.”
This is unbelievable, thought Hibiki, watching the showdown taking place right before his eyes. Because they both showed up for the same funeral, the two saviors of the Orre region are duking it out. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. But what does he mean, Maikeru is continuing to steal ‘up until this moment’?
“What are you going to do, hit me?” asked Maikeru, holding his ground. “Don’t make me file additional charges against you, Wes. You’re already wanted for holding onto that lawless contraption of yours. The police are on their way right now, for both you and these thieves. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this opportunity.”
Wes froze, and stood glowering over Maikeru, looking so angry that he could strangle him. Kenta cleared his throat noisily, and when the others looked at him, he motioned for Hibiki to come to his side. “Look,” he said, starting to walk past them, “in spite of our grudges, I am not going to let an old man’s funeral be dishonored by staying here and getting arrested in front of everyone. I’ll meet you outside of town.”
“So you’re not going to just run away again?” Maikeru challenged him. Kenta didn’t turn around. “Hardly. We’ve already established that my pokémon can kick the crap out of yours. I’m interested to see if Wes can do the same.”
If Hibiki had known it was coming, he might have seen the private exchange of nods between Kenta and Wes.
***
“I should have stayed undercover,” muttered Wes, as they reached the other side of the bridge outside of Agate Village. “I can’t even show up for a goddamn funeral without getting an arrest warrant shoved in my face.”
“I’m surprised you’re not making a break for it on that motorcycle of yours,” commented Maikeru, widening two pokeballs. “Not that there’s any point in running, but what makes you want to stay to the bitter end?”
“I brought my girl here,” replied Wes simply, tossing his own two pokeballs. “I can’t rightly leave her without a ride back, can I?”
In a combined burst of light, four pokeballs opened to reveal an Espeon and an Umbreon on Wes’s side, and on Maikeru’s side, Glaceon and-
Hibiki’s heart gave a leap. Kenta made a grunt of exclamation. Standing there on four steel legs, with the signature cross between its eyes, stood the living tank pokémon: Metagross. However, this was not the biggest shock. As Hibiki stared at the mighty creature, somebody’s words resounded in his ears.
“Of course I’d recognize him! He has a vertical scar down his left eye. It’s his proudest battle wound!”
This Metagross was covered in scrapes and scars, but the line down its left eye was undeniable. Steven Stone’s greatest achievement lumbered before them. Wes hissed a curse, then snapped his eyes to Kenta. “Alright, no more games,” he said urgently. “I need a reason to trust you, right now.”
“Then consider this good enough,” said Kenta, tossing him something, “the fact that I trusted you first.”
Wes and Maikeru both stared at it. “Another Master Ball?” breathed Maikeru, gazing in disbelief. “How did you possibly . . . ? Who are you?!”
“Sidecar,” mouthed Wes quickly and quietly. “Under the seat.”
“This feeling . . . it always goes away eventually, but it comes back, too. Every time this cold, hard wake-up slap of death interferes with life, I always think: what’s the point?”
Somebody pushed in next to Hibiki, but he didn’t take heed. All of his attention was on Kenta, and his fear that, once again, he was breaking down in mid-mission. Yet Kenta was always so focused on the task at hand, that he never seemed to take time out to unload his personal thoughts for more than a minute. Perhaps it was healthy that he was getting it out now.
“Death is going to claim all of us,” Kenta observed, eyes still on Eagun. “It didn’t get me before, but it will simply get me later. Same goes for the people who conceived G.R.I.P., and all the folks who will enforce it afterward. So is scurrying back and forth, here and there, really serving any purpose at all?
“Look at Eagun. Look at that long beard, those sagely wrinkles, that whitened hair. He had a long time on this stage, to figure out what he was meant to do. All of our feelings, our clear knowledge of right from wrong, and our renewed strength to overcome everyday struggles, these testify that somebody up there is still interested in us. How much time did he need to figure this out? We honor him now, so does that mean he was able to honor his maker when he was alive?
“Is that what life is really about . . . ? Honoring your maker?”
Interesting how it always comes back to God, thought Hibiki, placing an arm around Kenta’s shoulder as his brother fought to maintain his composure, a fist on his lips. Seeing death always seems to leave one yearning anew to give his life meaning.
Kenta took a few more seconds to rise out of his pool of deep thought, before he finally lowered his shoulders and relaxed his muscles. However, before Hibiki could say something to comfort him, somebody else, said “excuse me.” Turning around, Hibiki almost swallowed his tongue in shock. Standing directly beside him, still in his dusty black mourning clothes, was Wes himself. Yuki stood behind him, her eyes trained warily on Kenta. Wes put out his hand and motioned to Kenta, indicating towards the door, face expressionless. “I’m going out for a smoke. Care to join me?”
***
Once they were outside, Kenta and Wes were more or less alone. Hibiki sat himself upon a tree root protruding out of the ground, a short distance away, so that Wes would get the direct impression that Kenta would be doing the talking for them. The former Snagem member didn’t look at them at first, but leaned on the fence near a close-by ledge and gazed out at the horizon. Pulling a pack of D-Stix out of his pocket, he lit up and offered Kenta one. Kenta waved his hand dismissively, and Wes nodded, pocketing the rest.
“Don’t ever start smoking, man,” he said in a monotonous voice, even as the wisps of nicotine puffed out of his mouth. “Awful friggin’ habit. I’ll be with old Eagun sooner than later if I don’t get my act together.” He shot a glance at Kenta. “I think about death a lot, these days.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette, and blew out the smoke, looking frustrated. “I really thought I’d carried out my purpose for living. But now the whole ruling force of Japan has become one great big Cipher. So what was the point in what I did?”
Kenta remained quiet. Wes stood leaning on his fence and staring at the expanse of land beyond the village for a few more seconds.
“So, why are you here?” he finally asked. “Did you come for inspiration? Because inspiration is lying in a coffin inside.
“No, you couldn’t have. You didn’t know where you were going.” Wes turned again to look at Kenta, but this time, he kept his eyes on him. They were alert, focused. “You were on the wrong side of the Orre region, yet you asked nobody for directions.”
“What makes you say-?” Kenta began, but Wes held up a hand to cut him off. “Yuki recognized you from the diner, even with your hoods on,” he said calmly. “But beside that, I know Willie. He phoned me during the ride over, sending a warning that you were chasing us. I figured that I wouldn’t try to lose you, because you would soon see that we had nothing to hide anyway.”
He was completely prepared, thought Hibiki, his veins pulsing as he took in Wes’s words. This guy really does live up to his reputation. Are we ready for him?
“So, why didn’t you shed your cloaks?” Wes asked calmly, observing Kenta’s stone face. “If not for Willie, you might have at least avoided Yuki’s suspicions. Is it because you’re even more fearful of revealing who you really are?”
Hibiki gulped. Kenta stared calmly. Wes’s eyes were blazing. “Are you the revolutionary from Johto, the imposter Champion Birch?”
“H-how . . .?” Hibiki stammered, unable to keep quiet any longer. “How did you know that?”
“Informed guess,” replied Wes nonchalantly. “He let slip an unflattering comment against G.R.I.P., on top of everything else, so I thought I’d ask. Looks like I was right.” He tossed the remainder of his cigarette on the ground and treaded it with the heel of his shoe. “So that brings us back to my other question: why are you here?”
“Oh, I think you know the answer to that. He wants your Snag Machine.”
Three pairs of eyes shifted to the origin of the new voice, and Hibiki stared at him, thunderstruck. The newcomer, also dressed in black mourning clothes, was none other than the redheaded twelve-year-old boy that they had met yesterday. Wes glared at him, and he returned the expression mutually, and the air between them was thick with tension.
“Maikeru.”
“Wes.”
“You’re not welcome here.”
“The hell I’m not. I knew Eagun just as well as you did. He helped me topple Cipher the second time, while you sat on your ass and did nothing.”
Wes’s eyes flashed. “I resent that. Get out of here- this is sacred ground.”
Maikeru uttered a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, I have to leave, but you’re letting this thief stay?” He tilted his head towards Kenta. “Stop acting like you don’t know who he is. You know damn well that this is the criminal from the news, who broke into my laboratory yesterday. He’s even got his little accomplice with him.”
“Is he a thief? I disagree,” said Wes loudly, advancing on Maikeru. “A thief steals things. I heard a lot of crap on the radio about him, but not one report of anything missing from Krane Laboratories. Now you, on the other hand . . .” He was face-to-face with Maikeru. Despite the ten-year age difference, their heights were identical. “I don’t care if you are the prodigy savior of Orre. I may not have done it legally like you, but at least I stopped stealing pokémon after Cipher was detained.” He shook his head, looking into Maikeru’s unyielding eyes. “But . . . look at you. You’ve continued up until this moment.”
This is unbelievable, thought Hibiki, watching the showdown taking place right before his eyes. Because they both showed up for the same funeral, the two saviors of the Orre region are duking it out. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. But what does he mean, Maikeru is continuing to steal ‘up until this moment’?
“What are you going to do, hit me?” asked Maikeru, holding his ground. “Don’t make me file additional charges against you, Wes. You’re already wanted for holding onto that lawless contraption of yours. The police are on their way right now, for both you and these thieves. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this opportunity.”
Wes froze, and stood glowering over Maikeru, looking so angry that he could strangle him. Kenta cleared his throat noisily, and when the others looked at him, he motioned for Hibiki to come to his side. “Look,” he said, starting to walk past them, “in spite of our grudges, I am not going to let an old man’s funeral be dishonored by staying here and getting arrested in front of everyone. I’ll meet you outside of town.”
“So you’re not going to just run away again?” Maikeru challenged him. Kenta didn’t turn around. “Hardly. We’ve already established that my pokémon can kick the crap out of yours. I’m interested to see if Wes can do the same.”
If Hibiki had known it was coming, he might have seen the private exchange of nods between Kenta and Wes.
***
“I should have stayed undercover,” muttered Wes, as they reached the other side of the bridge outside of Agate Village. “I can’t even show up for a goddamn funeral without getting an arrest warrant shoved in my face.”
“I’m surprised you’re not making a break for it on that motorcycle of yours,” commented Maikeru, widening two pokeballs. “Not that there’s any point in running, but what makes you want to stay to the bitter end?”
“I brought my girl here,” replied Wes simply, tossing his own two pokeballs. “I can’t rightly leave her without a ride back, can I?”
In a combined burst of light, four pokeballs opened to reveal an Espeon and an Umbreon on Wes’s side, and on Maikeru’s side, Glaceon and-
Hibiki’s heart gave a leap. Kenta made a grunt of exclamation. Standing there on four steel legs, with the signature cross between its eyes, stood the living tank pokémon: Metagross. However, this was not the biggest shock. As Hibiki stared at the mighty creature, somebody’s words resounded in his ears.
“Of course I’d recognize him! He has a vertical scar down his left eye. It’s his proudest battle wound!”
This Metagross was covered in scrapes and scars, but the line down its left eye was undeniable. Steven Stone’s greatest achievement lumbered before them. Wes hissed a curse, then snapped his eyes to Kenta. “Alright, no more games,” he said urgently. “I need a reason to trust you, right now.”
“Then consider this good enough,” said Kenta, tossing him something, “the fact that I trusted you first.”
Wes and Maikeru both stared at it. “Another Master Ball?” breathed Maikeru, gazing in disbelief. “How did you possibly . . . ? Who are you?!”
“Sidecar,” mouthed Wes quickly and quietly. “Under the seat.”