The elevator descent felt like a return to earth. When Enzo stepped out of the lobby, the automatic doors slid shut behind him, cutting off the scent of expensive perfume and truffle oil, replacing it with the cold, biting street air.
His body was still humming with the adrenaline of the negotiation, yet he didn't smile. Happiness was for people who could afford to relax, and Enzo hadn't won a lottery; he had secured ammunition. His hand drifted to his pocket, where the two Black Cards rested. They felt heavier than plastic should.
Instead of heading for the main transport grid, he took a sharp left, cutting through a gap in a construction fence toward the edge of the industrial district. There were no cameras here, nor casual eyes.
Enzo stopped in the deepest shadow of a blind alley. "Gengar. Eyes."
The shadow stretching from Enzo's heels detached itself, rising up the brick wall until a wide, sinister grin split the darkness. Gengar melted into the brickwork, scanning the perimeter, invisible to anyone but his trainer.
Secure.
Enzo pulled out the TR Device. "Porygon2."
A flash of digital blue light pixelated the air as Porygon2 materialized, hovering at eye level. Its smooth, artificial geometry glowed faintly in the gloom as it tilted its head, waiting. Enzo pulled the two Black Cards from his pocket and held them up to the Pokémon's sensors.
"I need help," Enzo said, his voice low. "Erase every digital tie to Devon Corporation. Burn the purchase metadata and convert the trace routes into dead ends."
Porygon2 beeped a binary acknowledgement. Its eyes flashed rapidly as it interfaced wirelessly with the magnetic strips. It wasn't just hacking; it was rewriting code. Enzo watched Gengar on the wall, but the ghost didn't flinch. A moment later, Porygon2 let out a soft, descending chime. Done.
Enzo looked at the cards. They were clean assets now. He slid them back into his pocket, right next to his heart, and looked at the digital Pokémon. "Good. Porygon2, teleport us home."
The warehouse smelled of cheap Pokémon chow, metallic dust, and damp concrete. It was cold, the kind of chill that seeps into your bones. Enzo blinked, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights, finding the team exactly where he expected them to be.
Proton stood by the central table, looming over topographical maps with military focus, looking like a general planning a war with no soldiers. Professor Leni was hunched over his laptop, glasses sliding down his nose as he typed furiously about Fairy Type energy signatures. Meanwhile, Ronnie was slouched in a corner chair, dangling a piece of string for his Litten and Alolan Rattata.
Proton didn't look up from the map immediately, but when he did, his voice was dry, cutting through the silence. "Boss?"
Enzo adjusted his shirt, brushing off invisible dust. "It went fine."
He walked to the table, ignoring the chair because he needed to stand. "Report. Finances, food, and lab progress. Give me the damage."
Proton grimaced, tapping a ledger on the table. "It's bad... Operation Fairy is stalled this morning because we've hit the bottom of the barrel on funds." He pointed a thumb toward the floor. "The basement is overcrowded. Too many mouths to feed. If we don't move stock, we're going to bleed dry just keeping them fed."
Enzo turned his gaze to Leni. "Professor?"
Leni looked up, exhausted. "The thesis is... close. So close. I have the theoretical framework for the Fairy Type match-ups against a lot of types, but..." He hesitated. "To prove the immunity hierarchy, I need comparative samples. Dragon-type energy. Scales, blood, besides Deino. And Dragon samples are..."
"Expensive," Enzo finished.
"Yes…" Leni corrected. "And rare. Without the samples, I can't close the argument, and without the argument, we have no way to present this new type."
The silence returned, broken only by the scratching of Litten's claws on the concrete floor.
Without a word, Enzo reached into his inner pocket and withdrew the two matte black cards. Instead of handing them over, he tossed them onto the metal table.
Clack. Clack.
The sound was heavy and final.
"Four million Pokédollars," Enzo said.
The reaction was visceral. Ronnie's chair leg slipped, and he scrambled to stop himself from hitting the floor, eyes wide. Proton stared at the plastic, a micro-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Leni reached out a trembling hand, hovering over the cards like they were fragile, ancient fossils.
"Is that... real? Can I touch it?"
"Don't celebrate," Enzo's voice cracked like a whip, leaning over the table to kill the celebration before it could breathe. "This is nothing."
He looked at them with cold impatience. "This isn't anything. In the future, four million will be pocket change."
Enzo started pointing, his finger hitting the table with rhythm. "Priority one: Operation Fairy. We go all out. I want stock: Clefairy, Jigglypuff, Marill, Snubbull. If you can find Mr. Mime, Togepi, or Ralts, buy them without hesitation, we have 19 incubators, so buy them in eggs too."
He shifted his gaze to Leni. "Leni, you get a separate budget. Buy the Dragon samples, but only the bare minimum for one-time testing. Make it count. If you waste a gram."
Finally, he looked back at Proton. "And buy food. Medium quality. Fatten them up, because dead-looking assets don't sell."
Proton nodded, already mentally calculating the logistics. "Understood. We can breathe again."
"No," Enzo said, his eyes dark. "We can work again. Future money doesn't matter if we die next week." He picked up one of the maps Proton had been studying. "We still don't have a plan for Nero."
During the week, the warehouse became a meat grinder. Enzo wasn't sleeping; he was calculating. He knew the threat waiting for him: Bea, the Fighting-type trainer. One mistake against a Fighting-type meant a knocked-out Dark-type, so the margin for error was zero.
Enzo drilled the rotations obsessively, cycling through every possible permutation without rest.
In the early sessions, he focused on Deino and Zorua. "Too slow!" Enzo barked as Zorua maintained an illusion of a wounded Deino to bait an attack while the real Deino lunged from the shadows. Ronnie's Alolan Rattata took the bait, but not fast enough. "If that was a Machamp, you'd both be out. Again!"
Later, he switched to Houndoom and Deino. It was pure aggression; they tore through Proton's fodder Pokémon like a buzzsaw, fueled by Fire and Dragon-type rage. However, they lacked finesse, leaving gaps in their defense that a grappler could exploit. Enzo made them run drills until Deino collapsed from exhaustion.
But the heaviest burden always fell on the strongest killers: Houndoom and Krokorok. They were the shield and the sword. To push them to their limit, Enzo ordered the unfair fight.
"Pick three," Enzo ordered. "No holding back. Kill us if you can."
Proton and Ronnie stepped forward, releasing their heavy hitters. The air in the warehouse became stagnant, heavy with the smell of wet concrete and danger. It was a three-versus-two execution.
"Crush the dog!" Ronnie shouted, pointing a thick finger. "Onix, Rock Tomb!"
Beside him, Proton wasted no time. "Muk, seal the floor with Sludge Wave. Crobat, Air Cutter on the crocodile. Don't let him move."
The attack was a synchronized wall of death. Boulders rained down from the ceiling to trap Houndoom while a tide of purple sludge surged forward. Above, the Crobat slashed the air, sending a razor-sharp vacuum blade straight for Krokorok's neck.
Enzo didn't flinch. He knew he couldn't block this; he had to break the formation.
"Scatter!"
Houndoom bolted to the left, a streak of black lightning dodging the falling rocks, while Krokorok didn't run—he dropped. With a blur of claws, he executed Dig, vanishing into the concrete floor a split second before the Air Cutter sliced through the empty space where his head had been.
Ronnie grinned, seeing Houndoom isolated. "Got him. Onix, corner the dog!"
The massive rock snake lunged, ignoring the hole in the ground, focused entirely on the fire type. Ronnie thought he had the advantage, but he was wrong.
The floor beneath the Onix exploded.
Krokorok burst upward like a subterranean missile, the force of the Dig impacting directly into the Onix's underbelly. The physics were brutal; Onix, with its massive weight, couldn't withstand the structural shock. The giant snake roared once before crashing down.
"One down," Enzo muttered. "Two to go."
Proton reacted instantly. "Muk! He's exposed! Toxic!"
The pile of living sludge lunged at the Krokorok, who was still recovering from the jump. Purple toxins bubbled on Muk's surface, ready to infect the crocodile with a slow, agonizing defeat.
"Intercept," Enzo commanded. "Taunt."
Houndoom skidded to a halt and unleashed a guttural, mocking howl imbued with Dark energy. The sound wave hit the Muk, shattering its concentration. The purple toxic bubbles fizzled out, replaced by a red aura of pure rage. The Taunt worked; Muk was forced to attack physically now, dragging its slow mass forward instead of poisoning from a distance.
"End it," Enzo said, his voice dropping an octave. "Protocol Zero."
High above, Proton's Crobat tucked its wings, glowing white for an Aerial Ace, diving at blinding speed toward Krokorok. At the same time, the enraged Muk surged toward Houndoom.
Houndoom leaped, rotating mid-air, and fired a massive vertical Flamethrower. He didn't aim at the Crobat directly; he aimed at the space just above Krokorok. The pillar of fire created a sudden thermal wall. The Crobat, committed to its dive, flew straight into the heat. The bat stalled, singed and overwhelmed, falling from the rafters to hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Krokorok, floor is yours," Enzo signaled. "Earthquake."
With his partner off the ground, Krokorok had free rein. He slammed his tail and fists into the concrete. The shockwave was devastating. The warehouse floor rippled like water. The vibrations tore through the Muk's amorphous body, instantly destabilizing its molecular structure. Super effective. The sludge collapsed into a motionless puddle.
Silence returned to the warehouse. Onix was unconscious, Muk was a puddle, and Crobat was down. In the center of the destruction, Krokorok and Houndoom stood back-to-back, covering each other's blind spots. They were breathing hard, scratched and dirty, but still standing.
Enzo walked over, looking down at the carnage. He nodded, once. "Good job."
But as the adrenaline faded, the cold knot in his stomach returned instantly. We can win, he thought, looking at his tired team. But he still had nothing for Nero.
While the warehouse smelled of sweat and burnt ozone, the world outside was beginning to smell of money.
The Devon Corporation campaign had officially detonated. Billboards, TV spots, and social media feeds were flooded with high-contrast images of Enzo. The taglines were everywhere: "Enzo Style," "Dark Urban Line," "Wear the Night."
The visibility made Enzo paranoid. Every billboard felt like a target painted on his back. Nero would see this, Nero would come, and Enzo was still empty-handed.
Enzo was training his Pokémon when his phone buzzed.
Sender: Steven Stone "I'm currently dealing with that 'research' in Shalour City, but I haven't forgotten our deal. There's a package waiting for you at the Devon shop in the Cerulean Shopping Center. Go get it."
Two hours later, Enzo returned to the warehouse, kicking the door open with his boot. He was carrying three matte-black crates stamped with the silver Devon logo. He dropped them on the main table with a heavy thud and pried the lids open.
The smell of premium fabric filled the dank room. Inside was the complete "Dark Urban" collection: tactical bomber jackets, reinforced cargo pants, and waterproof tech-wear.
Ronnie pulled out a jacket, his eyes going wide as he felt the material. "Boss... this drip goes hard. Can I keep it?"
Proton picked up a vest, inspecting the stitching with critical fingers. "...Quality is acceptable. Durable."
Enzo grabbed a coat for himself, throwing it over his shoulders. "What's mine is yours. Take what you like."
As the team scrambled for the new clothes, Enzo ran his thumb over the fabric of his new coat. It was thick, resistant to tears, and reinforced at the joints. Devon deserves the reputation, Enzo thought, looking at his reflection in a dark window. The clothes made him look ready; they made him look like the character he was playing, a famous dark type trainer.
But inside the expensive jacket, he still felt like a man standing on a trapdoor, waiting for the fall.
The "Dark Urban" campaign was a success, and the team was stronger than ever, but Enzo's mind was a mess. He had nothing for Nero, no distraction, no smokescreen. Every plan he sketched in his head fell apart within seconds, dismissed as too risky, too expensive, or simply suicidal.
The anxiety was itching under his skin. He couldn't sit still.
"I need to clear my head," Enzo muttered, turning away from the celebration. "Back to the floor."
The team was already at their limit, drilled for every combat scenario, but Enzo needed the noise of battle to drown out the silence of his own thoughts.
He signaled Proton and Ronnie for a scrimmage: Weezing and Froakie versus Ronnie's Litten and Proton's Sprigatito.
"Go," Enzo commanded.
It wasn't a clean spar, it was a playground for dirty tricks. Ronnie's Litten and Proton's Sprigatito moved in sync, driven by equal hatred for Froakie. Fire and Grass, aggressive and fast. But Froakie didn't fight back. He cheated. The small frog used feints, low sweeps, and sticky Frubbles to trip them up, refusing to engage directly.
"Stop playing with them!" Ronnie yelled. "Litten, Ember!"
But the target wasn't there. Froakie had launched himself into the air, landing on top of the floating Weezing. He burrowed into the toxic smog Weezing was expelling, vanishing completely.
Litten and Sprigatito skid to a halt in the center of the arena, looking up, confused. They circled Weezing, tails twitching, trying to find the frog in the smoke.
Enzo opened his mouth to shout a command, but he stopped.
Froakie didn't wait for orders. The frog improvised. Without a sound, he launched himself out of the smoke, diving straight down like a kamikaze missile, his body coated in a thick layer of condensed water and slime.
SPLAT.
He landed dead center between the two cats, unleashing a burst of Water Pulse at point-blank range.
The result was immediate and wet. Litten hissed violently, the water steaming off his fur—super effective. He scrambled back, shaking his paws in pain. Sprigatito, however, took the hit differently. Being a Grass-type, the water didn't hurt him, but as the cold liquid soaked his meticulously groomed fur, the cat's eyes went wide. He didn't counter-attack; he froze. Then, he let out a high-pitched yowl of pure disgust, shaking his body violently to get dry, completely ignoring the battle. He hated being wet. It wasn't damage; it was feline instinct.
The splash radius wasn't big, but a stray wave of water slapped onto the sidelines, hitting Deino right in the face.
Deino shrieked. It wasn't a roar; it was a screech of sensory panic. The Blind Dragon began thrashing, rubbing its head frantically against the concrete, disoriented by the sudden cold texture on its skin.
The air in the warehouse changed.
Enzo stood frozen, his hand halfway raised to give a command that never came. He looked at Litten, then at Sprigatito, and finally at Deino.
A realization hit him like a bullet train.
Enzo raised the Pokéballs. The red lasers recalled the Pokémon instantly, without a word. He walked over to the dirty couch in the corner and sat down heavily, staring at the floor. He started shaking his head slowly, as if having an internal argument, physically rejecting the thought that had just crossed his mind.
That's insane, he thought.
Ronnie and Proton, who were still in the battle area, stopped too. The sudden shift in atmosphere was palpable, and they approached slowly, worried by the Enzo's sudden silence. Before they could speak, Enzo lifted his head. His expression was dead serious. Cold.
"I just had a really bad idea..."
He paused, a heavy beat of silence hanging in the air.
"Proton, tell Leni to stop the research on Fairy types immediately. Tell him to get his ass upstairs."
Proton didn't ask questions. He saw the look in Enzo's eyes, turned, and ran toward the basement lab.
Enzo reached into his pocket and pulled out the TR Device. His thumb hovered over the encrypted contact list. He took a breath, steeling himself, and pressed call.
Contact: Executive Nero.
The line connected with a secure click.
"I have a plan," Enzo said, cutting straight to the chase. "But if this happens, I need to be present. I won't be on the Island strike."
He gripped the device tighter, his knuckles turning white.
"I need intel on where to find a specific Pokémon species."
Enzo glanced one last time at the wet floor.
"And I need a Team Aqua member."
There was a long silence on the other end. Team Rocket and Team Aqua were oil and water; they didn't mix in ideologies or regions. Then, Nero's voice came through calm, dangerous, and genuinely interested.
"It's about time. Please, speak. I'm listening."
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