Chapter 17: The Attack In "Vibes & Waves"
The afterglow was a physical warmth in Dariana’s veins, a pleasant hum that made the world seem softer at the edges as she and Samuel slipped back into the main room of The Rhythm Root. The bass still throbbed, but it felt distant now, a heartbeat outside her body. She caught Patricia’s eye across the booth; her friend gave a small, knowing smile and a subtle thumbs-up. Dariana answered with a lazy smirk, sliding back onto the bench beside Nicola. Samuel, looking more rumpled and relaxed than ever, reclaimed his seat next to Axel, exchanging a quiet, unreadable nod with the older man.
For a few peaceful minutes, everything was normal. Briv was regaling them with an exaggerated story about Turtwig’s stubborn refusal to eat anything but a specific brand of berry mash. Chimchar, perched on his shoulder, mimicked his trainer’s expressive hand gestures, its flame tail casting dancing shadows. Patricia’s Budew sat placidly in her lap, half-asleep. Nicola was nursing her drink, a contemplative look on her face as she watched the crowd.
Then the front door exploded inward.
It wasn’t a metaphor. The heavy wooden door splintered off its hinges with a deafening crack, catapulting into the room and smashing a table to kindling. The music died with a screech of feedback. A sudden, vacuum-like silence was filled by screams as patrons ducked for cover.
Through the smoke and debris, figures clad in sleek, black uniforms stamped with a stylized red eclipse emblem stormed inside. They moved with a brutal, coordinated efficiency. Eclipse Squad. Some carried compact, menacing-looking devices that crackled with restrained energy. Others had their own Pokémon at the ready: a sneering Poochyena, a levitating Haunter with a malicious grin, a hulking Machoke.
“By order of the Aethelburg Provisional Authority, this establishment is under sanction!” a voice boomed from a helmeted agent at the front. “Remain calm and comply for your safety!”
Nobody remained calm.
Panic erupted, a tidal wave of bodies surging towards the back exit. Glasses shattered. A chair flew through the air. The warm, intimate space transformed into a claustrophobic trap in seconds.
“Go, go, go!” Axel was on his feet instantly, his voice a blade of cold command cutting through the chaos. He didn’t shout; he projected. Rotom materialized from his belt in a flash of orange light, its red eyes scanning the room, form flickering uncertainly between the fan and microwave modes as it assessed threats.
Briv’s hand was already gripping Patricia’s. “Back way, through the kitchen!” he yelled, pulling her up. Chimchar chittered in alarm, its tail flame blazing bright.
Nicola was a step ahead, Tangela already out, its blue vines snaking protectively around her legs. “Dariana, move!”
Dariana’s mind, still floating on a cloud of endorphins, slammed back into her body with a sickening jolt. Instinct took over. She fumbled at her belt, her fingers slick with sudden sweat. She found the two smooth capsules—Gallade’s premier ball, Pachirisu’s standard one. She thumbed the release buttons, the action as natural as breathing.
But as the red beams began to materialize on the floor in front of her, a burly Eclipse agent shoving through the fleeing crowd knocked hard into her shoulder. The impact was brutal and unexpected. A shock of pain lanced through her arm. Her grip failed.
The two Pokéballs flew from her hands.
They hit the sticky floor with plastic clatters and rolled, disappearing under the stampede of feet. The half-formed shapes of Gallade and Pachirisu dissolved back into their beams and retracted with pathetic, weak zips into the capsules now being kicked across the room.
“No!” The cry was ripped from her throat, raw and desperate. She dropped to her knees, scrambling, her hands sweeping under tables, grabbing at ankles. A boot caught her on the wrist. She saw a flash of black and red—an Eclipse grunt stooping, snatching up the two balls with a gloved hand.
“Acquired assets: Gallade and Pachirisu. Trainer in custody,” the grunt said into a comm unit, his voice mechanized by the helmet.
He reached for her.
A hand closed around Dariana’s upper arm, yanking her backward so forcefully her feet nearly left the ground. It was Briv. Patricia was behind him, clutching Budew to her chest, face pale.
“Leave them! We have to go, now!” Briv’s voice was strained, his eyes wide but focused. There was no time to argue, to grieve. The agent lunged.
Briv didn’t throw a punch. He shoved a heavy, high-top table directly into the man’s path, sending him stumbling. In that split second of delay, Briv pulled Dariana into the surging river of people fleeing towards the kitchen.
The world became a blur of noise, sweat, and fear. They burst through swinging doors into a steamy, chaotic kitchen where a cook was frantically hiding a prized Cast-iron skillet. Out a service exit into a cold, narrow alley piled with refuse bags. The stench of rotting food hit Dariana’s nostrils, making her gag.
“Which way?” Patricia gasped.
“Away from the main street,” Nicola said, already sprinting left. Axel and Samuel were right behind them, Rotom zipping overhead like a vengeful spark.
But the alley wasn’t empty. Two more Eclipse agents rounded the far corner, a sleek, intimidating Luxio at their side crackling with electricity.
“Split up!” Axel commanded. It was the only play. “Draw their numbers thin! Regroup at the sundial in the Old Quarter!”
The group fractured. Nicola and Axel dove down a connecting passage, Tangela’s vines lashing out to trip the Luxio. Samuel hesitated, his eyes locking with Dariana’s for a heart-stopping moment—fear, apology, a promise—before he was gone, melting into the shadows with surprising grace.
Briv never let go of Dariana’s hand. “This way!” He pulled her right, down another alley, then left, then right again, a frantic maze through Aethelburg’s underbelly. Patricia’s footsteps pounded behind them, but then a sharp cry echoed, followed by the distinct zap of an electric attack.
Briv skidded to a halt, looking back. “Patricia!”
“Keep going!” Her voice came, strained but determined, from around a corner. “I’ll loop around! Just go!”
The sound of pursuing boots was getting closer. Briv’s face was a mask of agony, torn between his girlfriend and his friend. Dariana saw it. She made the choice for him. She reversed their grip, now pulling him. “She’s smart, Briv. She’ll make it. We won’t if we stop.”
He allowed himself to be pulled, the conflict burning in his eyes. They ran until their lungs burned, the sounds of pursuit fading but never fully disappearing. They emerged from the warren of alleys into a dilapidated industrial sector. The gleaming crystal towers of central Aethelburg were distant spears of light against the night sky. Here, the buildings were husks of rusted metal and crumbling brick, windows dark and gaping.
One structure, a former warehouse with a partially collapsed roof, seemed to beckon. Without a word, they staggered towards it, slipping through a sagging chain-link fence and in through a shattered loading bay door.
Inside, it was cold, dark, and smelled of damp concrete, mold, and old motor oil. Faint moonlight filtered through the broken roof, painting jagged silver shapes on the floor. The only sounds were their own ragged, shuddering breaths and the distant, mournful wail of sirens converging on The Rhythm Root.
They stumbled deeper into the gloom, away from the doors, until they found a relatively dry nook behind a skeletal piece of machinery. Briv leaned against the cold metal, sliding down to sit on the floor, his head in his hands. Dariana sank down beside him, her body trembling from adrenaline crash and a cold, creeping horror.
She was alone. Truly alone. Gallade, her protector, her partner since she was a teenager… gone. Pachirisu, her cheerful, brave little spark… gone. The emptiness at her belt was a physical weight, a nausea in her gut.
“I lost them,” she whispered, the sound swallowed by the vast, dark space. “I just… dropped them.”
Briv lifted his head. In the dim light, his face was all angles and shadow. “It was a crash. They knocked into you.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re gone. Eclipse has them.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to stop the shaking. The memory of the grunt’s voice—Acquired assets—played on a loop in her head. They weren’t Pokémon to them. They were inventory.
For a long time, silence hung between them, thick and heavy. Briv finally fumbled at his own belt. He released Chimchar and Turtwig. The fire monkey immediately clambered into his lap, chittering softly, its warm flame providing a tiny, comforting circle of light and heat. Turtwig stood stoically at guard, its head swiveling, peering into the darkness, the sprout on its head twitching.
“Piplup,” Briv murmured, activating the third ball. The small penguin appeared, its usual sad eyes wide with confusion and fear. It took one look at the dark warehouse and the distressed humans and let out a soft, warbling cry, waddling quickly to press itself against Briv’s side.
The simple act of him summoning his team, of providing that small comfort, broke something in Dariana. A choked sob escaped her, harsh and ugly in the quiet.
Briv didn’t try to hug her. He just shifted Chimchar slightly and stretched out his leg so his knee was touching hers. A point of contact. Solid. Real.
“We’ll get them back,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We will.”
“How?” The word was a bitter rasp. “They’re a paramilitary force, Briv. We’re… we’re just kids with pets.”
“We’re not,” he said, a flicker of his old determination returning. “I’m the League Champion. You’re one of the best strategic battlers I know. Nicola is a tactical nightmare. Patricia is… well, she’s tougher than she looks. And Axel…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Axel is something else entirely. We’re not just anyone. They came for us. That means we’re a threat.”
Outside, a new sound cut through the night: the methodical crunch of boots on gravel. Multiple pairs. A beam of harsh white light sliced through the broken windows of the warehouse, sweeping across the interior opposite their hiding spot.
Dariana froze. Briv’s hand shot out, covering Chimchar’s tail flame, plunging their nook into near-total darkness. Piplup whimpered softly, and Briv put a gentle hand on its head. Turtwig retracted its limbs into its shell, becoming a dark, mossy rock in the shadows.
They held their breath.
The light swept past their machinery, hesitated, and moved on. Voices, muffled by helmets, drifted in.
“...negative in this sector. Team Three reports the capture of the Tangela trainer and the male companion. Resilient fighters, but contained.”
Nicola. Axel. Dariana’s heart clenched.
“The primary targets—the Champion and the dancer—remain at large. The dancer is unarmed. Minimal threat. The Champion is priority. He is to be pacified, his Pokémon acquired. The Regent wants the Infernape lineage personally.”
Briv’s jaw tightened. Chimchar, understanding the word ‘Infernape’, let out a tiny, indignant huff under Briv’s hand.
“Continue sweep. They can’t have gone far.”
The footsteps crunched away, fading slowly.
They waited in the absolute stillness for what felt like an eternity, until the only sound was the distant, ever-present hum of the city and the pounding of their own hearts.
Finally, Briv released his grip on Chimchar’s tail. The small flame reignited, revealing his face, now set in hard lines. The funny, smart guy was gone. In his place was the Champion, cornered but far from defeated.
“Unarmed, huh?” Dariana murmured, a ghost of her old smirk trying to surface. It felt brittle.
Briv managed a weak grin. “They don’t know you very well.” He looked at his Pokémon—Chimchar ready to fight, Turtwig stubborn and steadfast, Piplup scared but present. Then he looked at Dariana, empty-belted and shaking in the dark.
“We can’t stay here,” he whispered. “They’ll double back. We need to get to the Old Quarter sundial. It’s our only shot.”
“Through a city crawling with Eclipse?”
“Through the city we know,” he corrected. He reached into his backpack, pulling out a rumpled map of Aethelburg and a small penlight. He clicked it on, cupping the beam. “We go through the undercity. The old canal maintenance tunnels. Patricia and I used them to sneak into the arena gardens last year.”
He started tracing a route on the map, his voice dropping to a strategic whisper. As he spoke, plotting their path through the city’s veins, Dariana felt the paralyzing fear begin to harden into something else. Something cold and sharp. They had taken her family. They had called her unarmed.
She leaned in, watching the map, her mind beginning to work again, not as a dancer or a seductress, but as a strategist in a war she never asked for. The glow of the penlight illuminated their faces, two points of defiance in the immense, swallowing dark. Outside, the hunt continued. But inside, for the first time since the door exploded, a plan was beginning to form.
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But inside, for the first time since the door exploded, a plan was beginning to form. It was thin, more hope than strategy, but it was something to grip onto. Briv finished tracing the route with a grimy fingertip. “The canal access is about five blocks east, behind that old recycling plant. If we stay in the shadows and move fast, we can make it.”
“And if we can’t?” Dariana’s voice was flat.
“Then we improvise.” He clicked off the penlight, plunging them back into the soft, fiery glow of Chimchar’s tail. “But sitting here is a guarantee. Moving is a chance.”
He was right. The paralysis of loss began to recede, burned away by a sharper, more immediate need: survival. She nodded, pushing herself up on legs that still felt unsteady. The cold warehouse air bit through her thin top, a stark reminder of the warmth of the bar, of Samuel’s hands on her skin. That world was gone, at least for now.
They moved like ghosts through the skeletal remains of the factory. Every rustle of their clothing, every scuff of a shoe on grit, sounded monstrously loud to Dariana’s ears. Turtwig led the way, its low perspective ideal for spotting debris, while Piplup stayed heartbreakingly close to Briv’s ankles, its eyes wide pools of reflected flame. Chimchar brought up the rear, its tiny flame extinguished, relying on its keen hearing.
Twice, they froze as searchlight beams swept the streets outside the shattered windows. The beams painted swift, terrifying rectangles of white across the interior, turning broken machinery into monstrous silhouettes. They pressed themselves into oily crevices, holding their breath until the light passed.
The final stretch to the chain-link fence was the most exposed. A clear expanse of cracked asphalt lay under the sickly yellow glow of a single, malfunctioning streetlight. Briv pointed to a spot where the fence was peeled back like a tin can lid. “There. Go low and fast.”
Dariana went first. She dropped to her hands and knees, the rough asphalt scraping her palms, and slithered through the gap. The cold metal snagged her top, tearing a small hole. She didn’t stop. She scrambled into the deeper darkness of the adjacent lot, heart hammering against her ribs. A moment later, Briv followed, his Pokémon darting through after him.
They were in a narrow service lane cluttered with overflowing dumpsters. The smell was rancid, a cocktail of decay and chemical runoff. But it was empty. “This way,” Briv whispered, and they broke into a jog, staying close to the walls.
The recycling plant was a hulking silhouette against the night sky. They found the rusted access door exactly where Briv’s map indicated, set into a concrete berm. The lock was a heavy, rusted padlock. Briv examined it, then nodded to Chimchar. “Just the hasp. Quiet as you can.”
Chimchar’s flame flared to life on its tail, not a roaring blaze, but a needle-thin, brilliant blue jet. It applied the intense heat to the metal shackle with precise concentration. The metal glowed cherry-red, then white. With a soft ping, the shackle parted. Briv caught the hot lock before it could clatter to the ground, wincing as it seared his palm. He shoved the door inward. It opened with a groan of protest that sounded, to Dariana, like a scream.
Beyond lay darkness and the damp, mineral smell of stagnant water. Briv clicked his penlight back on. The beam revealed a narrow brick walkway beside a channel of black, sluggish water. The ceiling was low, dripping with condensation. It was a tomb.
“Home sweet home,” Briv muttered, stepping inside. “Watch your step. It’s slick.”
They walked for what felt like miles in a silent, dripping world. The tunnel echoed with the soft plink of water and the scuffle of their footsteps. The penlight beam was a frail thing, pushing back just enough darkness to see the next few paces. Piplup’s sad warbles echoed softly off the bricks. The stillness was oppressive, a physical weight. It gave Dariana’s mind nowhere to go but back to the bar, to the moment her Pokéballs hit the floor.
“He said ‘acquired assets,’” she said, her voice hollow in the tunnel. “That’s what the grunt said into his comm. Not ‘captured Pokémon.’ Assets.”
Briv was quiet for a few steps. “They’re not trainers. They’re… collectors. Or thieves.”
“They wanted Chimchar specifically. For its ‘Infernape lineage.’” She glanced at the fire monkey, who chittered defiantly. “They don’t see partners. They see bloodlines. Data. Things to be acquired.”
“Which is why we’re going to get everyone back,” Briv said, but the confidence in his voice was strained, stretched thin by the endless, dripping dark. “All of them.”
The tunnel began to slope gently upward. The air changed, losing some of its stagnant dampness, gaining a faint, green scent. They reached another metal door, this one newer, marked with a faded parks department logo. It was unlocked. Briv eased it open a crack.
Cool, fresh night air washed over them, so clean it was dizzying. They peered out. They were at the base of a wooded hillside, emerging from a concrete culvert disguised by ferns and ivy. Above them, through a thick canopy of trees, they could see the distant, radiant spires of central Aethelburg, beautiful and oblivious. Before them lay the sprawling, dark expanse of Celestial Park.
“The sundial is on the far north side,” Briv whispered. “Through the woods, past the ornamental gardens. It’s quieter this time of night, but patrols might be random.”
“Quieter is all we need,” Dariana said. The open air, though dangerous, felt like a liberation after the tunnels. They moved into the tree line, shadows among shadows.
Celestial Park was a vast, engineered wilderness. Manicured paths gave way to dense thickets of exotic, fragrant shrubs. They heard the occasional rustle of small Pokémon in the underbrush—a Skwovet rummaging, a Hoothoot’s low call from a branch. Every sound made them freeze. Their progress was agonizingly slow.
After twenty minutes of tense navigation, Briv held up a hand. He pointed. Through a break in the trees, in a small, moonlit clearing, stood a structure. It was a child’s playhouse, a quaint imitation of a rustic cottage with a shingled roof and a tiny, crooked chimney. It was weathered and forgotten, tucked away in this less-traveled corner of the park.
“In there,” Briv murmured. “Just for a minute. We need to check the map, see if we’re on course. And… we need to stop moving for a second.”
The thought of stopping, of being enclosed, sent a fresh jolt of anxiety through Dariana. The warehouse had been a trap. But this was small, hidden. She nodded, too tired to argue.
They ducked inside. The interior was bare except for a few dried leaves and the overwhelming scent of old, dry wood. It was cramped, forcing them to sit close, knees almost touching. Briv released his Pokémon again. Chimchar’s flame illuminated the tiny space, painting their faces in warm, dancing light. Piplup huddled, shivering slightly. Turtwig positioned itself at the miniature doorway, on watch.
Dariana pulled her knees to her chest, the reality of her emptiness crashing back in the stillness. She was a trainer with no Pokémon. A dancer with no music. A strategist with no pieces on the board. She felt naked, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her clothes. The confidence she’d carried since her athlete days, the seductive control she wielded like a weapon, it was all gone, stripped away in one violent moment.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, the words leaving her in a shaky exhale. She wasn’t talking about the immediate escape. She was talking about the void that came after.
Briv was studying his map, but he looked up. He didn’t offer hollow reassurance. He just listened, his brown eyes earnest in the firelight.
“Gallade… he’s been with me since my first competition. He was a Ralts then. Timid. He mirrored every nervous breath I took.” She gave a weak, watery smile. “We learned confidence together. And Pachirisu… someone had abandoned it. It was so scared of everything. It took months for it to let me touch it.” She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat painful. “They’re my family. And I just… I lost them.”
“You didn’t lose them,” Briv said, his voice firm. “They were taken. There’s a difference. And we’re going to take them back.”
“With what?” she gestured to her empty belt. “Your Chimchar is amazing, Briv, but it’s one Pokémon against an army. I’m a liability now.”
The word hung in the wooden air: liability. It was the truth, and it tasted like ash.
Briv looked at her for a long moment, then his gaze shifted, focusing past her shoulder, out through the small, square window of the playhouse. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not a liability. You’re a trainer who’s temporarily without a team.” He nodded toward the window. “Look.”
Dariana turned. Outside, bobbing lazily a few feet from the playhouse, was a Pokémon. It was a Combee, the triple-bodied honey Pokémon. Its three golden hexagons glinted in the moonlight, its four wings a soft blur as it hovered near a cluster of night-blooming flowers. It was alone, which was unusual for a species that lived in vast colonies. A scout, perhaps, or one separated from its hive.
It was utterly harmless, buzzing with a simple, insectile focus.
“So?” Dariana whispered, a frown creasing her forehead.
“So, you’re a trainer,” Briv said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He reached to his belt and unclipped a single, unused Pokéball from a loop. He held it out to her. The red and white sphere looked alien in her hand, its weight all wrong. It wasn’t Gallade’s premier ball with its custom black finish, or Pachirisu’s familiar, slightly scuffed capsule. It was generic. A blank slate.
“Briv, I can’t just… it’s a Combee. What’s it going to do?”
“It’s going to be yours,” he said simply. “It’s a start. And right now, we need a start.” He nodded to Piplup, who looked up at its name. “We’ll help. A little Bubble Beam, just to get its attention. Enough to give you a clear shot.”
This was madness. Sentimental, pointless madness. A Combee was practically a wild commodity, not a battle partner. Yet, as she looked from the Pokéball in her palm to the oblivious Pokémon floating in the moonlight, something stubborn stirred in her chest. It wasn’t about power. It was about the act itself. The choice to reach out. To try.
She looked at Briv. He wasn’t smiling his usual, easy grin. His expression was serious, intent. He believed in this ritual, in the fundamental truth of a trainer and a Pokémon. After everything, he still believed.
“Okay,” she breathed, the word barely audible.
Briv gave Piplup a soft command. The little penguin waddled to the playhouse doorway, took a deep breath, and launched a weak, fluttering stream of bubbles. They drifted across the clearing, popping harmlessly against the Combee’s middle segment.
The Combee started, its buzzing rising in pitch. It turned, more curious than angered, its compound eyes reflecting the playhouse interior. It drifted a little closer, investigating.
“Now,” Briv whispered.
Dariana’s hands were trembling. A violent, jarring tremor that ran from her shoulders to her fingertips. She hadn’t shaken like this since… since Samuel had first kissed her in the bathroom. But that was a tremor of anticipation, of desire. This was raw, unfiltered vulnerability. She fumbled with the ball, almost dropping it. Her thumb found the button.
She stood up in the cramped space, brushing against the low ceiling. She didn’t think. She just acted. She drew her arm back and threw the Pokéball through the open window.
Her aim was true. The ball sailed in a clean arc, struck the Combee squarely, and sucked it inside in a flash of red light. The sphere dropped into the soft grass below.
It wobbled.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
The click was soft, but in the silence of the woods, it was as definitive as a thunderclap.
Dariana stood frozen, her breath caught in her lungs. The tremble in her hands hadn’t stopped; it had just changed frequency, becoming a fine, electric vibration.
Briv let out a low, slow breath. “You did it.”
She didn’t move. She watched the motionless ball lying in the grass. It wasn’t Gallade. It wasn’t Pachirisu. It was a stranger. A tiny, three-part stranger that was now, inexplicably, hers.
Briv nudged Turtwig. The Pokémon trundled out, retrieved the ball, and brought it back, placing it carefully in Dariana’s still-trembling hand. The capsule was warm.
She stared at it. The generic, red and white surface seemed to hold a universe of potential. It was a beginning. A single, fragile note in the silence. She clipped it to her empty belt. The weight was minuscule, but it was a weight. It was an anchor.
She sank back down to the floor of the playhouse, her back against the wooden wall. The tears came then, not the harsh sobs from the warehouse, but a quiet, steady stream that she made no effort to wipe away. They were for Gallade and Pachirisu, lost somewhere in the city’s dark heart. And they were for this stupid, brave little Combee, and for the boy who had just given her back a piece of her identity with a single, simple act of faith.
Briv didn’t speak. He just sat beside her, shoulders touching, sharing his warmth in the cool, wooden hut. Chimchar’s flame cast a gentle, protective glow. Piplup, sensing the shift in mood, waddled over and hesitantly rested its head on Dariana’s knee. She placed a trembling hand on its smooth, feathered head.
For a few minutes, there was no Eclipse Squad, no stolen partners, no desperate run through tunnels. There was just the quiet creak of an old playhouse, the soft crackle of a fire-type’s tail, and the fragile, newly formed bond between a scared trainer and the Pokéball on her belt. It was a pocket of safety, woven from trust and a shared, silent understanding of what had been lost, and what, against all odds, had just been found.