The Raiders
A pokemon universe fictional story about an misanthropic adventurer Greco Delaney and his two assistants. Haven fallen on hard times, it's hard to resist a large sum of money, even if the item sought is rather ridiculous.
In this chapter, someone seeks Greco's help and has to go through hoops to get to him.
On a foggy spring morning, a businessman is gleaning through a mound of classifieds posted on the chilly, dirt-caked walls of the Cold Storage District, narrow eyes focused on numerous, bogus prints. Smaller Pokémon struggled to keep out of the range of his large body shifting ever so suddenly on the sidewalk in his in-depth investigation. He removed ads labeled for self-help seminars, writing workshops, interesting employment fields, and other hodgepodge topics, some of which had been plastered over in layers. "Free" advertising space is quite limited. With his large paw, he shreds off some more of the ads from the wall, balling them up in frustration. Soon however, he finally discovers a poster that didn't crumple off. In fact, it seemed to be made up of cloth. On the poster were a simple pyramid and a box of text:
"Hello there, mate. If you are in need of a rare artifact, a dead man's treasure or if you just in the market for something archaic to show off to your less-rich friends at the country club, the Raiders are here for you. If you want to rendezvous with our elite force of specialized, hard-working intelligent people, then you have to follow our rules. Drink a glass of the finest sherry at the Rose Saloon while commenting that "the desert waits", walk three blocks and drink two shots of the Jamaican Rum within a space of six minutes at Noctus bar then head down to Jengas for a fifth of a fifth of the green vodka."
He read all the instructions and quickly folded it away into his size 120 pant pockets. He grumbled quietly to himself before proceeding with normal routines.
That evening, he took the challenge these so-called "Raiders" issued. Considering his girth, it would be nothing for him. Still his voice was quiet when he asked for the finest sherry at the Rose Saloon and uttered the secret phrase. The bartender eyed him curiously and poured him a glass.
"You are quite the big guy, aren't ya?" the mawile said, while serving the other customers. "I have never seen you around these parts."
He sheepishly chuckled. "I am here in business, ma'am."
Apprehensively, the snorlax took a whiff of the sherry and downed it quickly. His face relaxed, enjoying the dry taste and robust flavor.
"Surprisingly good... um...um... the desert awaits... err I mean the desert waits!" He immediately departed, blushing with embarrassment, ready to go through the next stop.
At Noctus, the second bartender there passed him the two shots without him asking for it, once again eyeing the great cat down it with ease.
"It seems you have somewhere to be..." the bartender said quietly.
He left a ten dollar tip as he left through the door. The humidity felt as though it had increased as the snorlax headed into Jengas. He felt suddenly hot all over, suffocating heat enveloping his body just as it had been earlier. However, he dismissed this new feeling with a small grumble and pushed the doors of the dank establishment open.
"Give me a fifth of a fifth of green," the snorlax slurred.
The bartender, a Grovyle, slid him the bottle.
"Yeah here you go. Pay afterwards."
The snorlax felt uncertain about the drink, glancing back at the bartender who had gone to attend other customers. Within 20 minutes, he had finished the fifth of green inebriation and awaited his meeting. A few minutes later however, he suddenly felt the heat seize him again. He struggled to get up off the several barstools he sat on only to collapse on the ground. Patrons barely cleared his descent.
"Is he legit? Is he legit?"
"Of course he is... or a really bad undercover guy. Check him for wire and such, Jergan."
"Why do I..."
"Your secrecy and monitoring plan, remember? Here's proof it doesn't work. Anyway, this is tech work for you."
"Pssh, I have to dig through the lard... ok clear. What now?"
"Mench, get over here and carry him to our hideout."
"He's a bit wide... someone will have to lead me there since I can't see over him."
"You can carry it? I'm impressed."
"What would have been the point of hiring someone weak...? " "Um you two, let's go, the patrons might be sober enough to notice you know."
Slowly, the big hibernating Pokémon roused himself from his unexpected loss of consciousness. He found himself in a strange place, comfortable nonetheless. Off-white walls everywhere were adorned with gray scale paintings, several pieces of old, refurbished Hellenistic pottery, and a large flat screen television with a gray decal to match everything else.
The room however was barely lit with a small light that refused to pierce the darkness of the far corners. But even from this room, he could feel the sheer wealth that laid in the rest of the house. He tried to get up, but found himself able to get up. Whatever was slipped into his drink hadn't worn out yet.
"Hell....o... is...a...ny..one here? A...ny...one?"
The door on the far side of the room opened. Much to the snorlax's shock, in came the same grovyle from the bar, dressed in nothing but a white t-shirt with the symbol of a Pyramid plastered on the chest and a pair of boxers. . From first glance, the guy in the darkness looked to be in his early 30s and fairly short on sleep. He appeared to be rigid, visibly upset at the presence of the snorlax. In the darkness, he seemed larger than life, his skinny stringy form casting a heavy shadow on the little light filtering in from the hallway. In one hand, he had a rolled-up newspaper; in the other, he had the last remnants of a recently puffed cigarette, smoldering in the darkness. The gecko took a deep puff and took a seat in the darkness, not even bothering to turn on a light to read his paper.
"The answer depends on who you are, fatty. So then... who are you?" the grovyle replied. The glow of his cigarette briefly illuminated his face
"M... m ... my name is not important. I...."
"Oh spit it out already. I have no verbal answers for the nameless. I'm tired as fuck."
"I... I... I am not the one who requests your presence! I am merely here for the sake of my master."
The grovyle paused momentarily, then put out his cigarette in disgust and flicked it into the ashtray all the way on the central table. He then pulled out his lighter and started toying with it. The kidnapped businessman squirmed as he became very alert to the situation.
"My name is Gordon van Munching! Gordon van Munching! Please don't kill me!"
His captor swiftly snapped the lighter shut.
"JERGAN! Fucking hell!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I told you that would not work. Big ol' fatties like this one would easily breeze through it!"
The door opened again. A young looking Kecleon with glasses, a tie dye shirt, shorts and sandals came in, clutching onto his custom green laptop. He seemed much more at ease then his compatriot, lax in disposition. His glasses were perfectly made for his gargantuan head and glowed in the dim light as if illuminated by the computer screen. He had a portly figure as common for his species.
"You always jump to conclusions, Delaney." Jergan reached over to where the bound van Munching sat, looking him over inquisitively. "There is nothing wrong with my riddle and query of challenges. No police officer could avoid it, especially at Jengas. It was full-proof," he scoffed. "Even if he had someone tracking him, there was no way to..."
He paused for a moment. After taking another look and adjusting his glasses, he flipped up his laptop and brought out a small want. "Oh I see what you mean about the big guys...did you swallow a tracer?"
"Of course he did," yelled Delaney. "Why bother asking what your wand answered. Now what... I guess we have to dump him somewhere."
"Whoa guys hold on..." whimpered the Snorlax.
"Are you sure about it, D? Mench has serious issues with handling dead bodies."
"Aww come on guys, don't do this, you might know my employer..." His pleading was getting more noticeable. He tried to get up but the two pushed him back down just as he tried to shift his center of balance.
"What about it? Mench needs to man the fuck up."
"Wait!"
"What do you what Snorlax? Can't you see we are planning something?" sneered Delaney. "Yes, we will carve you up and throw you into the harbor. Can't you see it?!?"
"M... m... my employer is here!" he yelled in desperation.
The two looked out of the door and headed into the main room then at each other. "What are you trying to pull?" Delaney asked.
Suddenly, the earth around the house shook violently. The two ran outside expecting something fierce, like a convoy of police vehicles or a massive Pokémon like the business-suit-wearing Snorlax in the living room. Instead, a small figure emerged from the ground, dressed in a business suit, similar to his employee, with the addition of a top hat cane. The two were quite shocked. The employer was simply a drilbur, no stranger either. That didn't amuse Greco Delaney in the slightest.
"What an entrance Mr. Yukon," commented Jergan.
"Hello again, Mr. Kazuki Jergan. Still wearing that tie dye aren't you. Not the snazziest of styles but I suppose it suits you."
"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."
"Now then, Dr. Greco Delaney, how did you treat van Munching? I hope that you did not handle him too roughly. I had him do the seeking for me since this tiny body can't really pack away that alcohol without drowning. You should fix that or get secure phone lines."
Delaney flashed Jergan an "I told you so" look. "Go on and get Mench. He is our new strongman, hailing from Germany. He's a tough guy, lifted your associate with ease out of the bar."
After Jergan left, Yukon's face turned quite serious. Greco seemed to get wind of this shift and returned to his seat.
"I'm aware of the serious matters you have been unable to contain. In spite of your successes working for me, you have been notably dogged with numerous failures in the past year, including the Contrarian Mask debacle Egypt. Will you be able to handle this more dangerous task?"
"I have to hear the request details first, far be it from me to tell you how to discuss your operations."
"My apologies, doctor," the drilbur shot back. "I am just making sure my money will be secure. What kind of business would I be running if I didn't check? Well then, where is Mench fellow you told me so much about? That supposed big ol' bear of yours?" queried Yukon.
"Pssh. He is oft hard to convince to do anything when working out," Delaney quipped. The snorlax was sitting upright and sipping on some tea brought for him. The grovyle's eyes looked over the whole scene and chuckled. "You know, it's really annoying when you break whatever little secret pathway we try to establish, Yukon. Getting through the elaborate rituals needed to meet us is meant to be an ordeal for those with strong wills and won't be likely to screw us. It's a complete drag on our productivity. I can't lounge around in my boxers all day if we have to keep coming up with an idea."
"I'd apologize; but I'm likely to do it again. Also, please put on some pants. The boxers do not do enough."
"Hope you enjoyed the view." Delaney could hear a small argument followed by two sets of feet descending the staircase. "Oh here they come now."
First, Jergan came down, without his laptop and with a cup of coffee. Soon after, a slim, defined Mawile came down the steps... in a blue sports bra and shorts set, a soaking wet orange towel, draped on her shoulders. Van Munching stammered as he tried to figure out how she was able to carry such a large weight on a small frame.
"I expected... big... powerful ... bear or hairy other things... but Delaney, you deceived me. She is pretty... small... How can I be sure you will be safe?"
She shot a quick frigid glare in Delaney's direction then warmed up and smiled. "I think D gets transsexual fetishes from calling a girl a guy. Or maybe it's the Freudian slip..." She left her towel on the railing and settled down between her two partners, smelling fiercely of a strong workout.
"Oh calm down, Mench. It's not that bad. Makes people think you aren't weak." Delaney leaned back in his seat, stilling pretty smugly as the girl's temper simmered slowly.
"What can we do you for, Mr. Yukon?" Mench asked.
"So have you all heard of the War of the Roserades? Well it was a phenomenal war to be honest, giving us a lot of technology that in ways we use today. It lasted over a century that spread across many nations. Many people never knew of the existence of peace. But anyways, one of the queens was fond of joining her troops in battle, enjoying the feeling of being blood-coated, in the good old days before the leaders decided to hide during a fight. But I'm losing track. This queen, Queen Armada was a Rhyperior warrior queen. According to the legends of the Del Mar Empire, one of the things she used in battle was a pair of gold plated shoes that strangely could not be broken yet flexible enough for her to use it and still have some comfort. Of course she was a Rhyperior so their comfort would be... oh never mind. It is imperative that you locate and collect these shoes for myself."
"Longwinded much... and for nothing good." murmured Mench.
"Gold shoes don't fetch much on the black market, Yukon," Delaney had crossed his arms, seemingly deep in thought. "Tell me what's so special about these shoes that make the quest worth our time? "
"I'm glad you asked," he lied. "Queen Armada had huge feet and the shoes are merely gold plated. The real secret lies in the steel mold underneath. Almost all artifacts of the era are gone but there is some evidence the shoes may still exist. These ones may contain enough sample metal, however, for the purpose of analysis."
"What's the point of the sample metal?" Jergan interjected.
"It might hold special properties that allow it to have high strength/weight ratio. It would be the greatest breakthrough since carbon steel!"
"How much?" Delaney finally said. Unlike the other two, he was profoundly interested in the search of this treasure.
"1.2 Million Upfront."
'I guess you are serious." Delaney took the case of money. "So it's shoes with you... again."
"What do you mean?" he said, sounding defensive.
"I am just commenting on the fact that you had us seek shoes the last 2 times we were hired by you. You said some of the same stuff before too. Is this some market ploy of some sort?"
"Good Day, Dr. Delaney. Come van Munching."
As soon as the front door was closed, Mench floored the grovyle and marched back up the stairs. "Tell someone else that I'm a man and I will take away your claim," she growled. Delaney didn't respond however, she hit him too hard and knocked him out.