FLOOD [Pokémon]

Chapter 10: Simeon and the Old Salt

NERO

Friday, March 16, 2018

Eight hours later, the sound of a latch turning woke me up.

I quickly sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the couch. Even though I'd been lying down with my eyes closed, I hadn't been asleep — that was impossible in this unfamiliar place, especially for thoughts of Magdalene and her whereabouts.

Instead, I'd been thinking of ways to escape when they finally came to check on me. But in eight hours, I still only had the same two ideas: snatch the keys or use high Pitch. Both had a high probability of sending me right back to where I'd started: in a white box, locked up for another eight-hour shift. It was frustrating as hell.

Making things worse was the fact that I was unarmed — if I messed up with the keys or Pitch, just two or three police officers with those shocking devices would be more than enough to send me down to the floor and keep me there, and even if I screamed myself hoarse, I suspected they'd pull something more lethal from some hidden arsenal of weapons somewhere to shut me up. Like a gun. I shivered. I had yet to see one of those fabled human killing machines from the myths and war stories, and I had no interest in getting up close and personal with one today.

So I was forced to go with the hidden third option — as Officer Stanson and his comrade entered the room, I did nothing, save for stand and make my best attempt at looking harmless. Stanson's hand dropped to his belt as he glowered at me, and I took the chance to scan them. Unarmed. And not looking too happy about it: obviously, they were still a little sour over my vomiting and giving them Pitch-induced headaches when they'd captured me.

"What's that look on your face, punk?" Officer Stanson growled. "You plotting something in here?"

"Yes," I said baldly. "My sincere apology to Officer Benson." I had a tighter rein on my voice now — using the bottom of my throat, I pushed it to a low enough decibel for humans to tolerate, and was mildly pleased when neither of their faces crinkled in pain. "Is she going to let me talk to her now?"

The two exchanged a look, a frustrated one.

"No," Stanson said gruffly. "But that doesn't matter anyway: you're being released."

Shock made it hard to recall what happened next: before I knew it, I was standing outside of Officer Benson's door, and peering through the window inside. Being released? Wasn't I in trouble? Not that the thought of going free didn't please me but...was it normal for thieves to be let loose into the streets so soon after they'd been arrested? I was no expert on human society, but this just didn't seem right. In fact, it felt outright suspicious. This is a joke, isn't it?

The door opened, and I was marched back into Officer Benson's quarters, into the midst of three people. Officer Benson, who sat behind her desk, I recognized, but the other two were strangers: one was an old, short man with a fluffy beard, a straw hat, and a cane. The other... I stiffened, unable to look away from him. The other was a boy not too much older than I was: tall, white-haired, golden-eyed...and unmistakably...

The old man smiled widely when I was escorted in. "Jason!" he said, moving forward with arms wide. I went rigid as he engulfed me in a loving hug. "Thank Arceus you're all right! You worried this old salt to death!"

What the—

"Yeah, you should've seen him," the boy said, crossing his arms. He wore a red tank top, blue shorts, and tennis shoes, the picture of a sun-kissed, coastal athlete. An earring dangling from one ear gave him a roguish touch, like he went sailing in his free time. "He was beside himself. As far as he was concerned, you'd run off to a drug den or something."