AKI HAYAKAWA – PSIA FIELD AGENT, EASTERN EUROPE
A frigid wind whipped through the abandoned industrial complex on the outskirts of a forgotten Eastern European town. Midnight. Shadows pooled under broken concrete arches as Aki Hayakawa pressed his back against a crumbling wall, his breath fogging in the cold air. The distant glow of red emergency lights bathed the alley in a moody crimson haze. Overhead, storm clouds gathered, rumbling like distant artillery. In the uneasy silence between thunderclaps, Aki could hear the muffled whine of caged Pokémon and the shuffle of armed guards patrolling the perimeter ahead.
Clutching his silenced pistol, Aki peered around the corner. Two sentries stood by a chain-link gate, rifles slung at their shoulders. Beyond them, the lab's loading bay door was partly open – a wedge of pale fluorescent light cutting into the dark. Inside, shadows moved: scientists and mercenaries orchestrating one last illicit experiment. Illegal PokéBall prototypes and biotech equipment littered the loading dock. This was one of the last Ringmaster facilities – a black lab where stolen Japanese research found its way into ruthless hands.
Aki's jaw tightened. He remembered Makima's terse briefing months ago: "Track every lead on our stolen Pokémon research. No matter where in the world." It had led him here, to this crumbling Soviet-era factory repurposed for monstrosities. In the distance, a Pikachu's anguished squeal pierced the night – the sound of a creature in pain. Aki's grip on his pistol firmed. He wouldn't let another lab slip away.
He exhaled, calm and slow, signaling two local Interpol operatives flanking him. They nodded – on his mark. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating Aki's face: a young man with dark hair tied in a neat topknot, eyes sharp with focus. A cigarette ember glowed at his feet where he'd dropped it moments before breach – a habit picked up from a dear comrade he hoped to see again soon. At his hip, a sleek katana-like sword hung sheathed – a silent promise that if guns failed, steel and resolve would not.
With a swift hand gesture, Aki moved. In three ghost-like strides he closed in on the gate. The guards noticed a flicker of motion too late – thwip, thwip. Two silenced shots, two men down, crumpling before they could cry out. Aki and the Interpol agents slipped inside the compound, feet crunching on frost-laced gravel.
Inside the loading bay, the scene erupted in chaos under strobing alarm lights. Aki had hoped for a quiet infiltration, but a panicked researcher hit the alarm the moment he spotted the intruders. So much for subtlety. Aki darted behind a steel pillar as gunfire raked across the bay. The Interpol agents returned cover fire, pinning down mercenaries behind upturned crates. In the melee, frightened lab-coated technicians fled, some releasing PokéBalls in desperation. Aki's eyes widened as a hulking Machoke materialized amidst the crates with a guttural roar.
"Deal with it!" he shouted to one of the Interpol men over the din. The agent unleashed a German Shepherd-like Houndoom from his side – the dark canine snarled and lunged at the Machoke, engaging it in a fierce tussle between flame and muscle. Aki did not pause to watch; he trusted his teammates.
Moving fluidly, he vaulted onto a catwalk ladder, taking the high ground. From above, he could see rows of makeshift cages – inside, frightened eyes glinted: rare Pokémon the Ringmaster goons had rounded up for experimentation. A wave of anger and protectiveness surged in him. He remembered the reports of what happened in Kanto – of how traitors stole every Pokémon from Japan's central lab, betraying all of them. That wound was still raw. Not again. Never again.
A mercenary spotted Aki on the catwalk and aimed an assault rifle upward. Bullets tore through rusted metal, sparking. Aki rolled forward, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. In a flash of steel and a leap, he closed the distance. The mercenary's radio crackled with frantic chatter – but was abruptly cut off as Aki struck, the pommel of his blade knocking the man out cold with surgical precision. No unnecessary kills – that was something Hiroshi had taught him in training years ago. Aki bound the man's wrists with a zip-tie, adrenaline thrumming in his veins.
Below, the Houndoom's Flamethrower lit up the bay in flickering orange as it subdued the Machoke. The remaining guards were disoriented, some attempting a futile retreat. Aki noticed one man in a lab coat trying to abscond with a briefcase full of stolen data drives. In a heartbeat, Aki had his pistol trained on the man. "Freeze!" he barked, voice echoing through the cavernous bay. The man dropped the case with a clatter and raised shaking hands.
Within minutes, it was over. The lab was secured, mercenaries disarmed and corralled, and the surviving researchers on their knees with hands over their heads. The cages holding whimpering Pokémon were already being pried open by Aki's Interpol partners, freeing the terrified creatures. A gaunt Charmeleon with scarred scales stumbled out of its pen, and Aki gently caught it before it fell. "You're okay now," he whispered, steadying the trembling Pokémon. In that moment, Aki's hardened expression softened; he felt the weight of every life saved and every life stolen by the traitors he couldn't yet stop.
Before he could dwell on it, a secure satellite phone vibrated against his chest. Aki holstered his pistol and stepped aside, flipping open the encrypted device. Only a handful of people had this number. His heart kicked against his ribs as he saw the caller ID: Makima (PSIA HQ).
He pressed the phone to his ear. "Hayakawa," he answered, voice still steadied by combat focus.
Makima's voice came through, calm but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "Aki, report."
"Eastern European lab secure," he replied briskly, surveying the unconscious foes sprawled across the bay. "Data and assets in hand. I can start the intel extraction—"
"Negative," Makima interjected, her tone brooking no protest. "New orders. All agents are to disengage and return to Tokyo immediately."
Aki felt a jolt run through him. All agents? He unconsciously gripped the phone tighter. In all his years with PSIA, he'd never heard of a complete recall. "This… this is everyone?" he asked, voice hushed with surprise.
"Everyone," Makima confirmed gravely. "It's an all-hands recall. As of now, Operation Homecoming is in effect."
For a moment, Aki was silent. Below him, the freed Charmeleon nuzzled weakly against his leg, as if sensing the agent's sudden unease. Aki's mind raced. If Makima was pulling every field agent back to headquarters, the situation in Tokyo must be critical. He thought of the catastrophic betrayal that had rocked their agency – and of the legendary man who had just returned to them. Hiroshi… The elusive "Fox" had come home at last, and now Makima was rallying all her trusted operatives. The pieces clicked into place: this was the beginning of something big.
Aki took a steadying breath, exchanging a knowing look with the Interpol agents who had paused, curious at his side. "Understood," he said firmly into the phone. Duty and a flicker of anticipation coiled together in his chest. "I'll wrap up here and be on the next transport out."
Makima's voice softened just a touch. "Thank you, Aki. Tokyo awaits you. Hiroshi awaits you."
The line cut out. Aki lowered the phone slowly, Makima's final words echoing in his ears. He glanced around at the scene – the shattered remnants of the lab, the whimpering Pokémon now safe, the mercenaries bound. Normally, he would stay to extract every ounce of intel from this operation, tie up every loose end meticulously. But if Hiroshi's return had triggered an all-hands recall, Aki knew the front line was shifting back home.
He knelt one last time, helping the injured Charmeleon over to an Interpol medic. Gently, he placed a reassuring hand on the Pokémon's head, then stood and tightened his coat against the biting cold.
"Pack it up," he ordered the team quietly, voice resolved. "We leave now."
As Aki stepped out into the night, the thunder above finally broke into a cascade of cold rain. He tilted his face up for a second, feeling the drops on his skin and the weight of what was to come. In the distance, the sirens of local authorities grew louder – the baton would be passed to them to mop up here. His part in this corner of the world was done.
Now, Tokyo called, and Aki Hayakawa would answer without hesitation. In his chest, amidst the adrenaline and exhaustion, he felt a glimmer of hope and fierce loyalty. For Makima. For Hiroshi. For all that had been lost and all that might yet be saved.
He vanished into the darkness toward the rendezvous point, the crimson glow of the forsaken lab fading behind him, ready to return home.