Zygarde 10% Formes haul the bound poachers into dim holding cells. Scales scrape concrete. Chains rattle.
Orion strides in, cane tapping. Latias follows in human form, golden eyes sharp, red hair swaying. Pikachu sparks at his heels, cheeks crackling blue.
Latias tilts her head. "These the intruders who disturbed the peace?"
Orion nods. Grabs a bucket from the wall. Ice water sloshes.
He hurls it. SPLASH!
Poachers jolt awake. Water drips. Coughs echo. Scarface sputters, glaring.
"Who sent you?" Orion leans close, voice calm as a still pond.
Scarface spits water. "Go pound sand, shopkeep."
Others smirk, silent. Zip lips tight.
Pikachu growls low. Sparks pop.
Orion straightens. "Tough nuts, eh? We'll crack you yet."
Latias crosses arms. Cells hum with tension.
Orion tapped his cane. "Latias, dive in. Read their minds. I want the roots of this weed."
Latias nodded. Golden eyes glowed. She extended her hand.
Pressure crushed the poachers' skulls. Air thickened. Scarface gasped, veins bulging. Others clawed throats, suffocating. Latias ignored their wheezes.
Memories flashed: dark alleys, cash drops, shadowed meetings. No face for the boss. Just a name, whispered like poison.
Kingpin.
Latias blinked. Eyes dimmed. "No leader's image. But one name caught my attention: Kingpin."
Orion froze. Kingpin. The name slithered through his mind like a sneaky Sneak Attack.
Kingpin—Wilson Grant Fisk—ruled the eastern seaboard's underworld as a "legitimate" businessman and philanthropist. His massive frame, clad in pristine white suits, masked peak human strength and masterful combat skills. Bald, broad-shouldered, he crushed foes with grapples and pressure points, no superpowers needed. Calm and articulate, he viewed crime as efficient infrastructure, treating villains like underperforming employees. Chaos offended his strategic genius; he predicted heroes, manipulated media, and built empires through shell companies and mercenaries. Publicly, he funded community projects. Secretly, he orchestrated "unrelated" crimes, a shadow keeping louder disasters at bay. Arrests triggered contingencies; exposure stung worse than fists.
Scarface wheezed. "You... witch!"
Orion's eyes flashed.
He swung. Fist cracked Scarface's jaw.
CRACK!
Scarface reeled. Blood sprayed. He slumped against bars.
"Don't ya dare call her a witch," Orion growled. "Latias is an angel"
Pikachu sparked, cheeks bulging.
Latias blushed, golden eyes soft. Thank you, Orion. But...
Scarface spat teeth. "Kingpin'll bury you!"
Orion loomed closer. "Kingpin? That bloated man thinks he rules the shadows? Since he dares to mess with me, I'll make it his biggest regret."
Latias knelt by the bars, eyes glowing faint gold. Water pooled on the floor, chilling bare feet.
"What do we do with them now, Orion?"
Orion rubbed his knuckles, split skin stinging. Poachers groaned, heads lolling.
"Wipe their memories clean of Pokémon Home. Then dump 'em at the police station. Let the badges sort the rest."
Scarface mumbled curses. Latias nodded, aura flaring soft blue. Minds blurred. Eyes glazed empty.
"Understood."
Pikachu chirped approval, tail flicking sparks.
Orion tapped his cane. "Alright. C'mon, partner. Groceries won't buy themselves."
Pikachu hopped to his shoulder. They strode out, cell doors clanging shut behind.
Latias lingered, humming low. Poachers slumped deeper into fog, oblivious.
Outside, snow crunched underfoot. Orion grinned at Pikachu. "Kingpin's playin' with fire. Time we turned up the heat."
Orion pushes through the lobby door. Snowmelt drips from his coat, pooling cold on the tile floor. Pikachu shakes off flakes, cheeks sparking faint warmth. Latias trails behind, her human form radiating soft concern.
He climbs the stairs two at a time. His room door clicks open. The computer hums to life under his fingers, screen bathing the space in blue glow.
As owner of Pokémon Home, Orion holds special privileges. He accesses the Sanctuary network anytime. Borrowing a Pokémon proves simple—one taps the console, selects a temporary loan. The creature joins him for days or weeks, aiding tasks from patrols to analysis. Ownership stays with Pokémon Home, though. No true trainer bond forms; commands rely on mutual respect and shared purpose. Orion scrolls the digital roster. His eyes lock on Porygon.
Porygon, the Virtual Pokémon, emerges as an artificial marvel. Humans craft it through code, not nature. Its polygonal shell gleams in sharp geometric edges, housing a living program that slips between realities. Normal-type, it copies foe abilities with Trace or boosts attacks via Download after scans. No joints limit its glide; it thrives in labs or cyberspace, analyzing data with cold logic. Obedient yet adaptive, Porygon maps threats, predicts moves, and repairs itself mid-battle.
Perfect for digging into Kingpin's web.
Orion taps the console. A Poké Ball materializes in a swirl of digital light, humming soft blue. It pops open. Porygon glides out, polygonal body catching the screen's glow in sharp facets. Edges whir faintly, like cooling fans.
Porygon bobs once. Twice. Digital chirps trill high and eager—happy beeps cascade, rainbow lights flickering across its form.
"Good to see ya, Porygon." Orion leans back, cane across his lap. "Got a job. Dig into Wilson Fisk. Kingpin. Uncover his skeletons—the dirty deals, the hidden fronts. Every byte counts."
Porygon spins. Lights pulse green. Affirmative ping echoes. It dives straight into the monitor. Screen ripples. Code streams warp inward.
Porygon slips into cyberspace like a ghost through walls. As the Virtual Pokémon, it exists as living code, born from human labs. No flesh binds it; sharp polygons house a program that surfs networks at light speed. Trace copies enemy traits on entry. Download scans foes, boosting strikes. It maps servers, predicts hacks, shreds firewalls—all without tiring. Cyberspace bends to its will, data flowing like rivers under command.
Orion watches the screen flicker. Lines of code race. Fisk's name blooms in red nodes—shell companies, bribes, whispers of Pokémon poaching ops.
He drums fingers on cane. Waiting game now. Kingpin's no street punk. Armies of lawyers shield him, contingencies snap on arrests. One data dump won't topple the empire. But it signals Orion fights back. No pushover here. Pokémon Home stands firm.
Pikachu curls on desk, tail twitching sparks. Latias pours tea downstairs, steam curling warm. Snow taps window, city lights blur beyond.
Console pings soft. Progress bar creeps. Orion sips coffee, bitter heat grounding him. "Surf's up, partner. Ride those waves home with gold."
Porygon's chirps echo faint through speakers—thrilled warbles cut by data bursts. Networks quake under digital feet.
Orion smiles faint. First strike lands quiet. Kingpin feels the ripples soon.
***
Give power stones to support this book.
Advance chapters in P@T0n Najicablitz.