The hum of the Pokémon Center was a comfortable lullaby. Fluorescent lights cast a soft glow on the plush sofas, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and something warm, like fresh-baked bread. I was sprawled on a beanbag chair, green feet propped up on a low table, watching Metapod do what he did best: absolutely nothing. He was a solid, reassuring presence, a little green anchor in a world that was always moving too fast.
Across from us, Lila's brow was furrowed in concentration, her face illuminated by the glow of her Pokédex. She was probably memorizing the exact mineral composition of a Geodude's diet or something equally… Lila.
"Finally all settled, Mr. Logan?"
I looked up. Nurse Joy, the one with the pink-tipped hair, was smiling down at me, holding a freshly updated trainer card. "Please, call me Beast Boy. And yeah, thanks. Sorry about the mix-up at the front desk."
She giggled, a sound like tiny bells. "It's quite all right. I've just never had anyone try to register themselves as their own Pokémon before. It was… creative."
"Hey, if I'm gonna turn into them, I figure I should get the same free healthcare," I joked.
Before she could reply, a low, grinding tremor shuddered up through the floor. The lights overhead flickered erratically, casting the lounge in a strobe of light and shadow. Lila shot to her feet, Pokédex snapping shut. Metapod didn't move, but I felt a subtle tensing from him, a silent alert. Outside, the peaceful evening ambiance of the city plaza shattered. A chorus of panicked shouts erupted, punctuated by the screeches of frightened Pidgey and the percussive thud of something heavy hitting the pavement.
A plume of thick, gray smoke billowed past the window.
The Pokémon Center's intercom crackled to life, a frantic voice shouting over the static. "Those punks again! Team Scatter! They're stealing medical supplies from the main storage bay!"
My blood went cold, then hot. Punks. Stealing. Chaos. It was a language I understood all too well.
I was on my feet before the last word echoed through the lounge. "Come on, Metapod."
Lila grabbed my arm. "Hold on! Where do you think you're going?"
"Where do you think? Someone's gotta stop them."
"That's Officer Jenny's job," she said, her voice tight with pragmatism. "You'll just get in the way. You're not a cop, you're… you."
I appreciated the sentiment. I think.
But as I peered through the glass doors, the argument died in my throat. I saw them—a trio of wannabe villains in cheap, mismatched uniforms that looked like they'd been rejected by Team HIVE for being too tacky. One held a Koffing that was belching out waves of smog, a pathetic smokescreen for the Rattata darting between panicked legs, snatching dropped Potions and Berries. The third, a lanky guy with a ridiculous purple mohawk, was directing a Machop as it hauled a crate overflowing with medical supplies out of a side entrance.
Typical low-level goons. But then I saw her. A younger Nurse Joy, maybe just an intern, with wide, terrified eyes. She was standing between the chaos and a cart of injured Pokémon—a Rattata with a bandaged tail and a small, trembling Oddish. A piece of scaffolding, shaken loose by the initial tremor, teetered precariously on the edge of a nearby roof, directly above them.
Lila's logic was sound. My methods were messy. But seeing that Joy shield those Pokémon with her own body? That was all the reason I needed.
I shrugged off her hand. "Sorry, Lila. Sometimes 'me' is exactly what the situation calls for."
Metapod and I pushed through the automatic doors, stepping from sterile calm into a symphony of panic. The smog was thick and acrid, stinging my eyes and catching in my throat. The Koffing, floating lazily near its trainer, looked smug.
"Hey, gas-ball!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the noise. "Pick on someone who actually breathes smog for breakfast!"
The goons turned, surprised. The mohawk-wearing leader sneered. "Look what we've got here. A green-haired freak and his pet rock."
I grinned. "This 'pet rock' is about to be your worst nightmare." My body tingled with the familiar, electric hum of transformation. Bones shortened, muscles shifted, and feathers erupted from my skin. In a heartbeat, I was a Pidgeotto, soaring above the smog.
"Let's clear the air a bit!" I thought, flapping my powerful wings. A focused Gust tore through the plaza, a clean, sharp wind that ripped the smog to shreds. The thick gray curtain vanished, revealing the crooks, blinking in the sudden clarity.
The leader growled. "Get him! Machop, Rock Throw!"
The small fighting Pokémon grunted, heaving a chunk of broken pavement into the air. It wasn't aimed at me. It was hurtling straight for Metapod.
My heart seized. But Metapod didn't flinch. He just sat there, solid and unmoving. "Harden!" I mentally screamed, a silent command between partners.
The rock slammed into his chrysalis with a dull, sickening thud. But instead of shattering, it just… stopped. Metapod had braced himself, his shell becoming as dense as granite. The rock bounced off harmlessly.
My worry morphed into a surge of pride. That's my boy.
I dove, shifting mid-air. The feeling of feathers and hollow bones was replaced by the dense, coiled power of four powerful arms. I landed with a ground-shaking thud as a Machamp, easily twice the size of their little grunt.
"My turn," I roared, my voice a booming baritone. I didn't just charge. I moved. I weaved, using a cartwheeling approach that would have made Nightwing dizzy, my four arms a blur. I wasn't just fighting their Machop; I was putting on a show, keeping them so disoriented they couldn't coordinate.
While I had them distracted, the Rattata made another dash for a dropped case of Super Potions. But Metapod was ready. As the rat Pokémon scurried past, Metapod subtly shifted his weight, angling his hardened shell just so. The Rattata, moving too fast to notice, collided with him. It didn't hurt Metapod at all, but the angle sent the Rattata careening sideways, right into the legs of the Koffing's trainer, who went down with a surprised yelp.
Team Scatter's leader stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief and contempt. "What is this? This isn't a proper battle! You call that training? You're not even using real Pokémon!"
His words struck a chord, a sour note in the heat of the fight. It was the same look I'd seen a hundred times. The same dismissal. People saw my powers, my partner, and they didn't see a bond. They saw a gimmick.
I stopped my whirlwind assault, planting my feet firmly on the ground. My voice, still deep from the Machamp form, was dangerously quiet. "He doesn't have to be 'real.' He's my partner. And together? We're stronger than you think."
As I spoke, a soft, emerald light pulsed from Metapod. It wasn't the brilliant white of evolution, but something deeper, more personal. It was a pulse of pure emotion—loyalty, courage, and a shared connection that no Pokédex could ever measure. I felt it resonate inside me, a warm wave of absolute trust.
That was all I needed.
The moment of stillness was broken. I launched myself into the air, the heavy muscle of the Machamp melting away. My form shrank, hardened, becoming sleek and insectoid. A high-pitched buzz filled the air as I became a Beedrill, my twin stingers gleaming like polished silver.
This wasn't about brute force anymore. This was about precision.
I zipped past their Machop, my stingers moving too fast to see. I didn't hurt it. I just expertly sliced the straps holding the stolen crate, sending vials and sprays tumbling harmlessly onto a pile of discarded vendor tarps. With another pass, I jabbed Koffing's trainer in the arm—just enough to make him yelp and drop the Pokéball. Then I swirled around the floating gas Pokémon, using my stingers like surgical tools to pin the smog vents on its body shut with quick, precise jabs. The Koffing let out a muffled, confused gurgle, its main weapon neutralized.
From the safety of the Pokémon Center entrance, I saw Lila watching. Her arms were crossed, but the usual skepticism in her expression was replaced by something else. A flicker of dawning comprehension. She was seeing it now. I didn't command Metapod from a distance. We didn't operate on a system of orders and obedience. We moved together, an extension of one another, fighting as equals.
"Let's get out of here!" Mohawk shrieked, scrambling for a set of hoverboards leaning against a wall. The other two goons followed suit, grabbing their Pokémon and hopping on. They were making a break for it.
Not on my watch.
I shifted again, the Beedrill's buzz giving way to the powerful cry of a Pidgeotto. I swooped low, my talons outstretched, and hooked the edge of the crate they were abandoning. With a powerful heave, I sent it skidding back towards the Pokémon Center, safe and sound.
They were getting away. But Metapod was already ahead of me. I saw him on the edge of a nearby rooftop, having somehow gotten up there while I was busy. He had a plan. As the trio's hoverboards lifted off the ground, a white, glistening strand shot out from Metapod. It was a String Shot, but used with more creativity than I'd ever seen. It wasn't a net; it was a tether.
The sticky line snagged the back of the lead hoverboard. Metapod braced himself, his body becoming an anchor. The hoverboard jerked to a sudden, violent stop mid-air. The other two, flying too close, crashed right into their leader. The result was a comical, tangled mess of limbs, cheap uniforms, and sputtering hoverboards that tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap.
Just as they hit the pavement, the piercing wail of a siren rounded the corner. Officer Jenny, flanked by a fiercely loyal Growlithe, slid her motorcycle to a halt. She took in the scene—the tangled crooks, the neutralized Pokémon, me circling overhead—and a small smirk touched her lips.
"Well, Logan," she said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "Guess the chaos has its uses."
The city lights flickered once, twice, then blazed back to life, washing the plaza in a warm, steady glow. The calm was returning.
The young Nurse Joy rushed over to me after I landed and shifted back to normal. Her eyes were shining with gratitude. "Thank you," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You saved them. You saved us." She gestured to the cart where the Oddish and Rattata were now peering out, looking more curious than scared.
I just gave a small shrug. "No biggie. Just doing what anyone would do."
Lila walked up, her arms still crossed, her expression carefully neutral. It was a spectacular effort at pretending not to be impressed. "You were reckless. You could have been seriously hurt."
"But I wasn't," I said, kneeling beside Metapod. I placed a hand on his shell. It was warm from the residual energy of our bond. "You were amazing, buddy. Seriously. That String Shot? Genius. You're tougher than anyone gives you credit for."
Metapod emitted a soft, low chirp. It was a sound of pride. Of accomplishment.
Lila watched us for a moment, and the corner of her mouth ticked upward in a tiny smirk. "You know, chaos boy… you might just survive your first Gym after all."
I looked up, grinning, and caught my reflection in the dark glass of the Pokémon Center doors. A green-skinned kid, half-human, half-something else entirely, but all heart. Standing next to me was the reflection of a simple Metapod, a Pokémon most trainers saw as just a step on the path to something better. But to me, he was the whole journey.
"Yeah…" I said, my gaze fixed on our two reflections, perfectly in sync. "But let's win it our way."