Sharp black rocks jutted out of the ground like broken teeth. Red sandstone ravines split the earth into narrow corridors where wind screamed nonstop, scraping grit across exposed skin. The air was colder up here—not the clean kind of cold, but the kind that stayed in your bones and made you feel smaller.
Enzo didn't slow.
Corvisquire flew low overhead, huge enough to cast a moving shadow across the path. Every time its wings beat, the wind shifted around them like the bird was rewriting the weather.
Proton kept up… barely.
The new thermal suit helped—insulation trapped heat, and the fabric cut the wind—but half a day of marching on unstable rock was still half a day of marching. His breathing got heavier. His shoulders tightened. Every time his boots slipped, he looked like he wanted to curse the entire island.
Enzo didn't acknowledge it.
He was listening.
Not to the wind.
To the ground.
He let his new senses stretch, and the System fed him clean data in short pulses—movement signatures under the rock, patterns that didn't belong to humans.
Sandslash, digging with violent speed.
Dugtrio, shifting like living traps.
Onix, massive and slow, sliding through stone like it was water.
They weren't on the surface.
But they were there.
Enzo glanced up at Corvisquire, then at Proton's Zubat circling higher, using the sky as it owned it.
Flying-types.
Up here, they weren't just useful.
They were kings.
Ground Pokémon could ambush from below all they wanted. They could never reach them properly. Not in open terrain. Not with two fliers watching everything.
It made the North brutal for most recruits.
For Enzo and Proton?
It was an advantage.
They marched until the sun shifted and the wind turned meaner, and Proton's silence started to smell like exhaustion. That's when Enzo finally changed direction.
He climbed.
Not down into ravines where things could corner you.
Up.
He found a plateau elevated above the surrounding rock—protected on three sides by steep walls and accessible only by a single narrow entrance. A choke point so tight a Dugtrio couldn't swarm them. So clean an Onix would have to announce itself before it could enter.
Impossible to be ambushed by anything that lived in the ground.
Enzo stepped onto the flat stone and nodded once.
"This," he said.
Proton exhaled like he'd been holding his lungs hostage. "Finally."
Enzo turned to his shadow.
"Gastly," he said calmly. "Material."
The shadow beneath him rippled.
Not like light changing.
As if something beneath the darkness had opened its mouth.
And then it vomited the large tent and the packed equipment onto the stone in a messy pile of straps and fabric.
Proton stared at it like it was still black magic, because it was.
"…It still freaks me out," he muttered.
Enzo didn't look up. "Get used to it."
They set up fast.
The officer tent wasn't a "tent" in recruit terms. It was a portable base—thick fabric, reinforced seams, insulation layers, heating unit, internal layout built like someone expected to stay alive.
Two human rooms.
And a third section—a stable area for Pokémon to rest without being stepped on.
By the time the sun dipped, the plateau looked like it belonged to them.
Corvisquire perched at the edge like a statue carved from metal. Proton's Zubat took the highest rock and settled there, wings folded, echolocation ready to paint the night with warning pings.
A radar with teeth.
Proton collapsed into one of the beds without pretending he wasn't tired.
He didn't even talk much. Just a rough, honest: "Wake me if something goes wrong."
Then he was gone.
Enzo stayed awake.
Not because he couldn't sleep.
Because there were still pieces to lock into place.
He sat in the dim warmth of the human room, pulled his newly acquired Poké Ball from his bag, and rolled it lightly in his palm.
Porygon.
Expensive.
Rare.
A Pokémon made of information.
He tapped it, and the System responded.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — ]
Specimen: Porygon
Level: 8
Potential: LIGHT GREEN
Moves: Tackle (Normal) | Conversion (Normal) | Sharpen (Normal)
He already had the Teleport TM. And the System had made one thing painfully clear:
Virus-active Pokémon only.
So he didn't hesitate.
He pressed the ball to his palm.
"Yes."
The ball pulsed—blue, then violet.
[ VIRUS TRANSMISSION: CONFIRMED ]
[ INJECTING… ]
[ … ]
[ INJECTION COMPLETE ]
A beat of silence.
Then the System chimed again—different.
Sharper.
Like something had just recognized an opportunity.
[ TM COMPATIBILITY DETECTED ]
Target identified as potential TM bearer.
Install TM file: TELEPORT?
YES / NO
Enzo's eyes narrowed.
So that's how it works.
It wasn't "learning" like a normal move.
It was syncing a file into a host.
He selected:
YES.
The System pulsed.
[ INSTALLING TM FILE… ]
[ TELEPORT — DATA LINK: ESTABLISHED ]
[ SYNCHRONIZING… 27% ]
…
…
[ SYNCHRONIZING… 74% ]
…
[ SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE ]
[ TM ACQUIRED: TELEPORT ]
To use it, select a Pokémon with:
— VIRUS STATUS: ACTIVE
Enzo exhaled quietly.
Good.
Clean.
One more hidden card added to the arsenal.
Then a red alert slammed into his vision like a punch.
[ WARNING ]
ANOMALY DETECTED.
Excess data ingestion identified.
Digital structure is destabilizing.
Recommendation: RELEASE POKÉMON IMMEDIATELY.
Enzo froze.
His first thought was pure irritation.
Porygon was the key. If something happened to it—
He didn't finish the thought.
He released it.
Light burst into the room, and Porygon appeared—angular, clean, artificial… and immediately wrong.
It started glowing.
Not "pretty light."
This looked like corrupted data trying to rewrite itself in real time.
Porygon's body flickered—edges stuttering, geometry bending as if reality couldn't decide what shape it was supposed to be. The air around it shimmered like heat distortion, and the glow intensified into something violent and digital.
Enzo's heart tightened.
Teleport.
If this evolution erased it—
Then the glow snapped inward.
A sharp, mechanical pulse echoed in the room like a system reboot.
And Porygon became something thicker.
Heavier.
More complete.
Porygon2 hovered there, smoother lines, deeper color, eyes bright like active screens.
Enzo didn't breathe until the System updated.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — UPDATED ]
Specimen: Porygon2 (VIRUS ACTIVE)
Level: 8
Potential: DEEP GREEN
Ability: Download
Moves: Tackle (Normal) | Conversion (Normal) | Sharpen (Normal) | Teleport (Psychic)
Obs: "Data assimilation triggered spontaneous upgrade. Structural integrity improved. Growth ceiling elevated."
Enzo stared at the move list.
Teleport.
Still there.
His lungs released the breath they'd been holding.
"Good," he muttered.
Porygon2 rotated in the air like it was calibrating the room, then turned its head toward him with a motion that felt less like an animal and more like a machine acknowledging a user.
Enzo's telepathy touched it carefully.
It wasn't emotion like Koffing.
It wasn't instinct like Corvisquire.
It was… packets.
Clean signals.
A mind that felt like a quiet server room.
Command? The sensation returned. Not a word. A prompt.
Enzo's mouth barely moved. He spoke mentally anyway.
"Get inside my TR Device (Team Rocket Device)."
Porygon2 didn't hesitate.
Its body flickered once, then streamed into the device in a thin ribbon of light like data being uploaded.
Enzo felt the TR Device vibrate in his pocket.
Then a new icon appeared on the screen—small, clean, and very alive.
Enzo sent the next thought, precise.
"Protect my information. Location. Movements. Everything."
A pulse of acknowledgement.
"Fake markers," Enzo added. "If anyone tries to track me, they chase ghosts."
Another pulse.
"And monitor any signals that come near."
The response came back like a calm diagnosis:
Tracking protocol initiated.
Spoofing enabled.
Threat proximity alerts are active.
Enzo sat back.
Satisfied.
Controlling information on Trial Island wasn't a luxury.
It was survival.
He turned off the screen, slid the device away, and finally lay down.
From the other room, Proton's breathing was deep and heavy—sleep earned the hard way.
Outside, Zubat's echolocation clicks were faint, almost comforting.
Corvisquire stayed on the edge of the plateau like a dark sentinel.
And from Enzo's shadow, Gastly giggled softly—because of course it did.
Enzo closed his eyes.
In the next Morning
Enzo woke before the light properly reached the plateau.
The North was quiet in a way that felt predatory—wind scraping stone, distant shifts under the ground, nothing else. Proton was still asleep in the other room, breathing heavy, face turned into the pillow like he'd been marching for days instead of half of one.
Enzo sat up without noise and pulled his supplies close.
Berries. Binders. Mineral dust. The "ingredients" were just ingredients for anyone else.
For him, they were math.
A blue System window flickered into existence—clean, clinical—overlaying his vision with ratios and micro-adjustments. Enzo kept his back turned to the tent entrance, shoulders angled so no one could ever see the glow reflect in his eyes.
If Proton ever saw the interface guiding his hands, he'd start asking questions.
Enzo didn't need questions.
He needed results.
He crushed berries into paste, measured binders with practiced fingers, and let the System calibrate the final mix down to the gram. The smell changed as it came together—sweet at first, then sharper, then… right. Like the air itself, recognized "high-grade" and stepped back.
He poured the mixture into molds, let it set, then cut it into bright cubes that shimmered faintly in the morning gloom.
Pokéblocks.
Real ones.
The kind that made a hungry Pokémon stop thinking about biting you.
Proton woke to the smell.
He sat up, blinked twice like his brain was rebooting, then frowned. "What is that—"
Enzo didn't answer. He just grabbed two small pouches and tossed them across the tent.
Proton caught them awkwardly, opened one, and stared at the glowing cubes inside.
Enzo tightened a strap on his bag like this was nothing.
"For yours," he said.
Proton looked up. "oh thanks…"
Enzo's tone stayed flat. "Go eat first, we hava big day ahaded"
Proton didn't argue. He just looked at the bags again with new respect.
Outside, the wind hit them like a slap.
Then Proton hesitated, hand hovering over his second ball.
"Alright," he muttered. "Don't be a pain."
Click.
Light spilled out, and a second Koffing formed in midair—
—and instantly looked offended that existence had the audacity to include Proton.
It puffed slightly, vents flaring, eyes narrowed in permanent judgment. The body language was pure disdain, like it was doing him a favor by not floating away.
Proton sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I know."
The Koffing made a noise that sounded like a disgusted exhale.
Enzo watched it for half a second and immediately understood.
This wasn't a happy bomb.
This was a mean bomb.
Proton pulled out a Pokéblock cube and held it up like a bribe. "Here."
The Koffing stared at it like it was garbage.
Then it leaned closer.
Sniffed.
Its entire posture changed.
A small pause—just long enough for pride to lose a fistfight with hunger—and it snapped the cube up and started chewing.
One bite.
Two.
Then it ate the rest faster, eyes widening as it had just tasted religion.
Proton's expression shifted, stunned. "…Oh. So you do have feelings."
The Koffing huffed again, but this time it didn't look disgusted.
It looked… slightly less murderous.
Enzo had already seen the status, but the system displayed it again.
The System answered.
[ POKÉMON PROFILE — ]
Specimen: Koffing
Level: 12
Potential: LIGHT GREEN
Moves: Smog (Poison) | Poison Gas (Poison) | Assurance (Dark)
Enzo withdrew his hand.
"Not bad," he said.
Enzo didn't explain. He just looked at Proton's Koffing again.
Enzo released his own Koffing.
Click.
The purple sphere appeared midair like a happy curse—bobbing, vibrating, grin wide, immediately inhaling the North air as if it was a treat.
Enzo tried to set the tone early.
He spoke through telepathy, sharp and controlled.
"Listen. We're in the North. Real training. That one is Proton—partner. Do not explode near him."
His Koffing… didn't respond.
It stopped vibrating.
It froze in midair.
And stared.
Not at Enzo.
At Proton's Koffing.
Enzo narrowed his eyes.
"Are you listening, you useless balloon?"
Koffing's voice finally slid into his skull—slow, dreamy, stupidly sincere.
"M-master… I don't hear anything."
Enzo's irritation spiked. "What?!"
Koffing didn't blink.
"She… is… a flame."
Enzo went still.
"…A flame," he repeated mentally, like his brain refused to process it.
Koffing bobbed once, trembling with reverence.
"Pure… gas."
Proton's Koffing, meanwhile, didn't even look at him.
It chewed its Pokéblock with cold indifference, eyes half-lidded, like the world was beneath it.
Which only made Enzo's Koffing vibrate harder—as if rejection was a stimulant.
Enzo stared at the two floating bombs and felt something heavy settle in his chest.
Not fear.
Not dread.
Something worse.
A problem that was going to speak inside his skull for the next fifty days.
"…Oh no," Enzo muttered.
Proton frowned. "What?"
Enzo didn't answer him.
Because his Koffing answered first, telepathically, with the tone of someone confessing a great sin.
"Sorry, boss…"
A beat.
"I like them toxic."
Enzo closed his eyes for one second.
Just one.
Like if he kept them shut long enough, reality would fix itself.
It didn't.
He opened them again and looked at Proton's Koffing—still ignoring his.
Then, at his own Koffing—vibrating like it was about to explode from romance.
"Stop it."
Enzo exhaled slowly. "Proton," he said carefully, "did you know your koffing is female?" Proton squinted. "What? Really? How do you know?" Enzo looked at the sky like it might offer answers.
"Trust me, I know..." he said.