A lone figure walked down a dimly lit corridor of the clandestine facility on the outskirts of Shanghai. The black site factory buzzed with the low ambient hum of high-voltage machinery and the muffled chatter of guards changing shifts. Dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking security officer, the figure carried himself with an air of authority. Beneath a lifelike latex mask and a neatly trimmed wig—perfectly resembling the man he impersonated—was Hiroshi Kobayashi, an elite PSIA agent known as "Elusive Fox." In intelligence circles, Hiroshi was a legend whose real face was unknown to all. He had infiltrated many such dens before, but this was the final Ringmaster base – the last bastion of an international criminal organization spanning Asia and Europe.
Hiroshi had only infiltrated this base a day ago, starting as a lowly grunt before quickly neutralizing and impersonating a series of higher-ranking personnel. Now he wore the identity of the facility's head of security, the fourth persona in twenty-four hours. Beneath the mask, sweat trickled down his brow – partly from the claustrophobic latex, and partly from the knowledge that his time was running out. By now, the real officers he had quietly taken down were overdue in their posts; within a few hours, someone would notice four men missing, and suspicion would flood the ranks.
He passed a pair of armed guards in exoskeleton-like body armor, giving them a curt nod. They straightened and saluted, oblivious to the ruse. Hiroshi suppressed a wry smirk behind his mask – social engineering and sheer bravado were his weapons as much as any gun or Pokémon at his disposal. In his ear, a tiny hidden communicator crackled once – a subtle cue from Daisy the Gardevoir that the security cameras in this hall were momentarily looped. Hiroshi pretended to adjust his earpiece as he thought to himself, Perfect timing, Daisy.
"Sir?" one of the guards ventured, noticing the gesture. "Need any assistance?"
"All clear here," Hiroshi replied in a flawlessly modulated baritone that matched the man he was impersonating. The voice changer tucked against his throat ensured that even his vocal cords betrayed nothing. The guard nodded and moved on. As soon as they were out of earshot, Hiroshi allowed himself a small sigh of relief – the kind that comes when a tightrope walk continues without a slip.
Despite the calm façade, his mind was racing. He mentally went over his mission objectives one more time, like a mantra:
Gather intelligence: Acquire all data and technological blueprints that the Ringmaster organization has developed here.
Sabotage: Plant charges or triggers to ensure the facility and its heinous projects are completely destroyed.
Rescue victims: Find any prisoners – human or Pokémon – and get them out safely.
Escape unseen: Disappear without a trace, leaving nothing but confusion and a crater in his wake.
Each point was critical. There would be no backup coming; at 20, he was already a veteran of solo black ops, having started this dangerous career at 17. The Ringmaster's network had fallen base by base, and tonight Hiroshi aimed to topple the final piece. The clock was ticking, but if all went smoothly, the Fox would slip in and out before anyone knew what happened.
Secrets in the Shadows
Hiroshi made his way to an elevator at the end of the corridor, swiping the stolen keycard of the officer he impersonated. A green light flashed and the doors hissed open. As he stepped in, he caught a brief reflection in the polished interior panel – the face staring back was a stern, middle-aged man with a scar over one eyebrow. The disguise was so convincing that even Hiroshi almost felt that stranger's presence in the mirror. "Impeccable latex work as always," he murmured under his breath with a hint of humor, adjusting the collar of the uniform.
Daisy's telepathic voice gently touches his mind, Camera loops are holding. No signs of suspicion yet. Her tone was calm and reassuring. Daisy the Gardevoir had been Hiroshi's partner since early in his career – a graceful Pokémon with emerald-green hair and a flowing white gown-like body, capable of powerful psychic abilities. Right now, she was cloaked somewhere unseen, likely projecting an illusion or using her psychic powers to stay out of sight. Along with Alakazam, who lurked near the facility's mainframe servers, Daisy was discreetly fulfilling her assigned tasks. Hiroshi had deployed the two Psychic-types to suppress electronic surveillance and glean intel when needed. Their synchronized psychic link with Hiroshi allowed near-instantaneous communication without a single audible word – a crucial edge in maintaining the deception.
The elevator descended smoothly to the lower levels where the sensitive labs and data servers were located. Hiroshi straightened his stolen uniform and squared his shoulders as the doors opened to a stark hallway awash in sterile white light. A scientist in a lab coat glanced up, momentarily surprised to see the head of security emerging at this late hour.
"Officer Liu? We weren't expecting you down here... Is everything all right?" the bespectacled man asked nervously, clutching a clipboard and a stack of reports.
"Routine check," Hiroshi lied with a perfectly measured nod. "Orders from above – no department uninspected." He strode forward with the brusque authority of a man who belonged exactly where he was. The scientist gulped and scurried on, his footsteps echoing away on the polished floor. Hiroshi exhaled silently – every interaction was a careful performance. This disguise won't hold much longer, he reminded himself.
As he moved on, the hallway opened into an observation balcony overlooking a large chamber below. Hiroshi paused at the reinforced glass window and felt a surge of anger tighten in his chest. Below was something out of a nightmare: a laboratory floor lined with examination tables and containment pods. He counted several small, frightened figures – children, no older than ten – lying or sitting restrained as technicians hovered over them, adjusting machines and checking readings. The children bore strange markings on their skin: glowing lines of circuitry and tattooed identification numbers on their arms. Many had shorn hair, revealing surgical scars along their scalps or spines. They were dressed in drab gray hospital smocks that made them look like little test subjects (which, horrifically, they were). It was a scene reminiscent of a science-fiction horror – as if someone was trying to create real-life Spartans from the old HALO video games. The HALO-like markings and half-fitted cybernetic braces on some limbs indicated the experiment was still in progress. Not if I can help it, Hiroshi vowed silently, eyes narrowing behind the mask.
Cages lined the far wall of the lab as well, and inside each one quivered a small form: Pokémon. A Pikachu with matted yellow fur huddled in one corner, a cruel electronic collar around its neck emitting an occasional crackle of electricity that made the poor creature wince. In the next cage, a slender Dratini lay coiled tightly, its pearl-like eyes full of fear. Beside it, a sandy Sandshrew trembled, digging its claws nervously into the steel floor of its cage. A tiny Pidgey with patchy feathers and a clipped wing let out a weak, sad chirp. And in the last cage, a bruised Machop sat with its back against the bars, a heavy chain binding its arms; the grey-skinned Pokémon glared defiantly despite the tremor of exhaustion visible in its muscles. The sight of these creatures – normally symbols of wonder and friendship – now battered and restrained, made Hiroshi's blood boil. Pokémon were still rare in the world; technology had only birthed them a decade ago, and most were hoarded as tools by the powerful. Here, clearly, they were treated as disposable test subjects in the service of some twisted project.