It’s been a while, yes, but the next chapter is finally here. Thanks, all of you, for reviewing, though I want to make a few things clear before you can begin reading. I know, I tend to kinda suck at answering questions; I tend to forget to answer them, so here are the long-awaited answers.

First off, this is not a sequel to Pokemon Trainer, Capy’s pokemon story. The characters he chose to submit are mostly familiar faces such as Rain and Gajo.

Thanks Dr. Killjoy, for giving me info on the gun. I am not a gun expert, heh.

And Capy, thanks. I sure need all the help I can get.

I am also introducing your Ocs slowly, so please be patient if yours hasn’t shown up yet.

Pokemon Masters

2. Staplegunned

Chist Anar felt his muscles loosen up again, felt his lungs expand as they greedily sucked more air into them. Pores opened, making the boy feel good about himself and his body. The case that held his rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he was perched atop the mansion roof as he allowed the wind to gently caress his body. Vargo Thundard was out, as well as his slave. By morning, the students would walk into his class, see his bloody corpse, and kick up a fuss. Or maybe they’ll find the slave’s body first. It was of no concern to Chist which ones were found, as long as the world knew about it.

Feeling the chill, he quickly climbed down, retreating into the large mansion. His room, closest to the front door, looked better since he cleaned it before he made his way on the roof: the bookcase held various totalitarian themes such as ‘The House of the Scorpion’ and ‘1984’, books that most pokemon probably would never recognize despite a few pokemon characters that appeared in them.

The dressers that held his clothes were newly polished and the medium-sized TV sported brand new channels that Sierra had purchased. He would have gone out to steal a few other things he would love to have, such as new weapons, but it was not going to be easy.

Looking around his room to see if everything was in order, he decided to go up into the old Master’s bedroom and put his clothes and gun away. Afterwards, he tossed himself onto his bed in his room, turned on the TV, and grew awe-struck at the programs depicting a pikachu ripping the guts of a farfetch’d.

During that same night, in the furthest crevices of the town of Mauvile, a large factory had only its interior bottom lights on, a sign that a few employees were staying up the night. The lampposts outside the building glinted faintly like little beacons in the dark, lighting the pathways for cars that no longer ran. Because it was so far back in town, there were still plenty of what the pokemon call ‘junk’ lying around. Cars turning to rust were parked in the sidewalks, in store driveways, and even in the roads themselves. Because the pokemon have little use for the roadways save for races and fooling around, most of the cars rusted where they stood. It was here that Pikys Power Warehouse--factory--got its scrap metal, by tearing apart cars, bikes, and other human tools that no longer gave humans any reason to work them. Most of the power now was due to pokemon, and manual power that was generated by electric pokemon, or thunderstones.

In the large factory, a compact building divided into four sections, with hunks of steel and various parts made to make various shields and other items, was discarded where they stood, against walls or on the racks. The only light was in a small room that resembled a large closet. A pikachu that propped itself on the desk managed a smile as he hung up the phone. Inside the room, only Mark Lester, a New Zealander, stayed with him. Alan Stone, an adult human, was sent out on a delivery duty with another pokemon.

PNN--Pokemon News Network--was on and the newscaster went on explaining how there were mysterious tremors coming from the North and why there seemed to be so many trips made there, despite the dangers that a huge earthquake might be in the immediate future. Pikys’ forced smile remained on his lips. Mark shuddered at the sight he saw on TV and went back to his original duties at reading a magazine.

The PNN correspondent reported that Mew, along with a few Legendaries, were set upon conquering the rogue zones, places that still managed to survive the ‘Y2K’ that occurred when Mew rose to power, and at the time were neutral and slave-free. The Aggressive fought for Mew, no surprises there, and the reporter claimed that, in the Artic, there were humans with unusual powers. As a small note, a guard at the Riverpoint University found a dead body of a pokemon teacher.

“Unfortunately, the body of Vargo Thundard was found slumped, head lowered, and torso struck, crushed by the weight of his own tables. The slave, Dake, was found with a bullet through his skull.”

"Well, Henry, what do the experts think happened to Vargo? Was it possible that there was foul play involved?"

“No, it seems that Dake was killed by a human outside of the party, though what human could possibly crush Vargo like that is an odd human indeed.”

“Ah, it’s probably that Urban six-six-six guy,” Mark said through the corner of his mouth, unknowing how loud he actually was. Pikys’ black-tipped ear twitched at his words.

“…rumors claim that the Urban has had a role in this, as well as the possibility of rogue pokemon.”

“…perhaps the subhumans from the North--”

Pikys turned the television off and shrugged. “Guess Mew’s conquest won’t be so easy after all. There might still be hope for the human race.”

Mark, stretched out on the carpet, his long body almost making a C shape, still read his magazine and started to hum a nonsensical tune.

Only ten minutes passed by, and Pikys was starting to become less of himself. The lack of sleep made it worse.

The pikachu waited impatiently, his eyes scanning the room over and over again. “He’s late” he muttered loudly, looking to see if Mark had heard. “Why is he late? It’s simple, really. A damned delivery, is all it is!” Sparks crackled against his red cheeks.

Mark, who was now seated on the chair rather than stretched out on the floor, replied that Alan’s close relationship with his own paranoia was more important than a meeting with him.

“Sorry,” Mark replied, "but that is the truth. You know he’s a little--” He made a gesture. “--up there. With a guide like that machop, I think he’ll do a lot of stopping and looking over his shoulder. As well as uhm, just being scared that the machop would hurt him.” He watched Pikys stand up and begin pacing. “Oh, no! Not this again. If you continue to do this then the nice, fluffy carpet will be long gone.”

Pikys narrowed his eyes and growled under his breath. “Are you ordering me around, Mark?” His order wasn’t one of anger towards a human who stepped out of line. It was all for play, for already the pikachu almost burst out laughing, if he wasn’t so tired.

“Of course not,” Mark replied, a little less joking than Pikys, and not so timid as before; possibly his lack of sleep got to him. “I just want you to relax a bit more. Everything is going so smoothly on the Northern front. It would be a shame if you wasted all your energy by worrying.”

Stiffling a yawn, and digging a fist into his sleep-drugged eyes, he tried to distract himself by slicking his hair back and watched with tired eyes as Pikys sat down again, his body moving with nervousness and anxiety.

Not too soon that he had retired momentarily, Pikys was up again, surprising Mark. “He is here. The doors just opened.”

Alan Stone, the paranoid man with the machop at his side, sighed heavily, not wanting to bear any more urgent news. He was too tired to be on his toes as much, and the machop was glad to relieve the human at the doorstep. With a shout aimed at the office, the only area with lights on at the hour, the machop saluted. “Hey, Pikys! Here’s Stone. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Alright!”

Alan managed to wince however, when the hefty doors slammed behind him.

The man entered the room and noticed Mark, wielding a rolled-up magazine and practicing slight movements with it in case a fly or some other bug disturbed him. Or that was what he thought it was. When Mark’s breathing went a little slower, and his body started to jerk with the impulse to stay awake, Mark actually slapped himself across the face with his weapon.

Pikys groaned. “You know, I could shock you.”

“No thanks.”

Pikys turned to Alan and extended his paw and Alan took it. “Alan, how did it go?”

“Pikys was starting to go insane when you didn’t come back on time,” Mark admitted, still lost in space, struggling to stay awake.

Alan managed to smile pleasantly. “Sorry. It took a bit longer than expected, considering how…” A shiver crept down the man’s spine, and his wiry black hair seemed to expand while his insomniac eyes widened. Even Mark could smell the slight fear in him, and the young man was interested, no longer falling asleep.

“What? What happened?” Pikys demanded.

“Well, I dunno if it’s a big problem or not--hell, maybe, maybe not--because you might know this guy and so I dunno if I am overreacting…” His voice trailed off, his words spilling out from his mouth like water. Pikys did not interrupt when Alan became like this. Usually, it was best for the guy to collect himself rather than putting on more unneeded pressure to have him hurry up.

“Well, the guy you sold that armor too, yeah, he’s been hired by another client. S-someone possibly higher than us. It’s a possibility. Maybe not as much--okay, maybe I can be over exaggerating--but not this time. Because I saw this woman, and she wore a suit and badge and everything and--” He was so panicked that it almost looked like Alan was about to shed some tears. “So I had to haggle and corner both her and the client.”

“And I take it it went well?” Mark decided to ask.

“Yeah,” said Alan, color returning back to his face as though he had just let out what was eating him up. “But barely. I dunno, this person might end up taking over. Usually I am not so anal over things, but this is all we got left.”

“Don’t worry. We’re still the best. Anyone knows that we make weapons and armor for pokemon hands cheap, but effective.” Then Pikys went into lighter matters. “Here’s something to cheer you up. On the news, guess what me and Mark saw…?”

“I’m home!”

Chist looked up from his bed, his cheeks and chin smeared with grease from the food he recently ate. Quickly cleaning himself up, he turned off the TV and smiled as Sierra closed the large doors behind her.

It was clear, from her appearance, that her meeting did not go so well. The gray in her muzzle looked as though it had spread slightly overnight, and she automatically walked on all fours as though trying to shake off the feeling of failure by walking in a more comfortable position.

“How did it go, miss?”

“Not so well. It seems that they were a bit harsh tonight.”

It was obviously a bad thing, for Sierra didn’t bother to correct Chist on his formalities.

“What do you mean?” Chist asked sharply, a little too sharp, but it was too late to correct himself. His greed to know things could easily be taken as concern.

For a moment, Sierra looked older than she truly was. It was as though the grief outlined the rest of her body. Her blunt claws and fangs, the way the gray fur also started to appear in other places, such as her shoulders, back and tail.

“Complications,” she said briefly. “are arising, thanks to what I’ve heard in the meeting with the Aggressive. They are now starting to connect me to the chaos happening in the North, as well as other places where the land remains rather neutral, and most of them are in the North.”

“In the North?”

“Have you watched a bit of the news today, Chist? Subhumans seem to exist, they along with other pokemon who wish to make another renegade force. They are fighting down Mew’s advances.”

Chist didn’t know whether to be excited or disappointed. He knew that there were others the labs experimented on, way before Dr. Sebastian came up with Vertal. But Chist thought he was the only human that survived countless tests, in which a human can be able to possess pokemon powers, and the ability to talk to them without the need of drugs. It was how he and Sierra managed to speak perfectly. Pokemon went the same way as well, fusing them to other abilities so that their weaknesses will only make them stronger. And now that there were more of his kind out there, fighting back, it almost made his kill of Vargo feel rather small-scaled.

Not that he cared who won and who lost, but the idea that there were others touched him slightly.

“…Thundard was also killed. By that criminal Urban.”

Chist blinked. He had dazed off again. He smiled weakly, nodding to her every word.