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There was a noise, that was the first thing that stirred Ulysses Shonevsky's brain. Second was the fact that it was not his home creaking like usual- it came from outside. Third was the fact that nothing ever came near his home. In seconds- what would have been only half a moment in his younger years- the retiree was on his feet, loaded shotgun in hand. He strode from the bedroom into the living room, and gazed out the window, to an unusual sight. Gloria was already there, her blazing red eyes locked on the strangers.

As if to utterly shatter the seriousness of the moment, a spiky-eared purple-black mass sank through the ceiling headfirst with devilishly slanted eyes and smirking maw cackling maniacally.

"Djinn! Not now!" Ulysses ordered in a hoarse whisper. The gengar's expression drooped for a few seconds, disappointed, then turned to see what all the hubbub was. Finally in his boots, Ulysses stepped onto the porch, the shotgun's safety released, and his two mature pokémon at either side.

"Who's out there?" It was delivered in a very commanding tone, a voice one would imagine holding a weapon with intent to use if a... less than satisfactory answer was given. Time and seclusion had not dulled his defensive instincts- to the contrary, it had sharpened them. For nearly a decade they'd gone untested, but today seemed to be the day everything would change; yes, change was in the air and happenings were afoot.

He could feel it in his bones.

((A couple random notes: first, great job writing so far; second, those of you who continue to insist on capitalizing pokémon species names need to stop; third, I'm really loving the enthusiasm, so keep it the freak up ^.^ ))

As expected, even a half-mad kidnapper is susceptible to lead being buried in the front of his skull and sternum. With a clumsiness known only by those afflicted by epilepsy and fatal wounds, the attacker stumbled face-down against Dirk's shins, not having had the momentum yet to do much more than nudge them; he was dead. Inspection would reveal he had been carrying nothing but an old transistor radio that appeared to have fried one way or another and the pokéball that presumably housed the machoke. He was dressed in clothing that was, aside from being composed entirely of earthy colors, completely unremarkable.

The machoke seemed at a complete and total loss. There was clearly nothing it could do. Its master was dead, and the ether-powered water had, while soothing its burns, still knocked it a little loopy. Sure, the squirtle lineage was not exactly known for its raw strength, but neither was the machop lineage known for its defense. After a few moments of contemplation, it sat up with its legs crossed and hands on its knees, the burn wounds spread across the rose-quartz stretch marks on its powerful biceps. It bowed its head forward in submission, and seemed prepared to wait there until a decision as to its fate was made.

In the not-very-distance, the sounds of gunfire and shouting quickly dimmed. Woodmount was not one to take an invasion lightly; it was quite likely the entire attacking force had not only been killed, but executed along with any pokémon not having an immediate use. Woodmount did not have a prison. In Dirk and Lexi's experience, captured fighting-, rock-, and ground-type pokémon were sometimes used as manual laborers. Sometimes, if a pokémon remained complacent after its master's death (which was very rarely the case, although the machoke appeared to be relatively at ease with happenstance), it would be handed off to a member of the town. Regardless, the entire city would be in a rage come morning, and given the southerly direction of the attack, that rage would be directed immediately towards Riverdale.

---

Without Djinn to restrict him, the well-built, lean trespasser sprang to his feet, recalled his ekans, and began an all-out sprint down the hill towards Stetson. The raticate marked an erratic, zig-zag path behind him, making as much confusion as to actual position as possible in the darkness and shadows. He felt no need to respond to the call. From his vantage point on the hill, Ulysses could see the fires being set on the south side of town as the alarm went up, men and women alike shouting half-remembered commands into the night.

It was a fumbling affair, as always; it was a constant surprise that Cliffshire had survived as long as it had. The place had three advantages: there was viable farmland immediately southeast of it, which was plowed both regularly and with incredible success; it had ample pastureland on the cliffside, which Ulysses generally had a very good view of; and it had a train station that connected it to Glenville, Riverdale, and Maryland. Granted, these were used infrequently - not because of a lack of competent operators, nor even a lack of pokémon or other resources to power the trains - no, they were in infrequent use because of simple and stupid bureaucracy. Cliffshire had decided to model its government on the United States', and thus had far more Heads than brains to fill them. There were rumors that a small, very strange contraption had been trundling down the tracks on occasion, but no one had looked into it. That is, they had tried, but no one could decide whose responsibility it was to do so. What the "democracy" had truly achieved was an even and reasonable distribution of food, goods, water, and electricity, and that was why they had survived.

All incompetence aside, the city was still much larger than an invading force this size could hope to overcome. As togetics tend to do, Joy's mere presence made everything go far more smoothly. "Hey, stop!" was not really something people now running from an oncoming patchwork army would pay attention to, so instead of a real response, one of those fleeing the scene simply turned and shot at Jason, though it did nothing but tear a hole in his shoe. A few of the would-be attackers fell to gunshots. It seemed there were roughly ten of them in total, which was a pathetically small force for attacking a city of over seven thousand, but more foolish things had happened in the past. Around Jason, the city's "military" was erupting into shouts of victory and celebratory gunfire. Eventually, survivors would be rounded up for interrogation, and then dumped into the town's prison indefinitely.

---

With the attacker very dead and the tangela very out of its wits, the lab was frigidly silent, save for the gentle whirring of machinery and the sporadic sounds of gunfire as the Minutemen rounded up the rest of the attackers.

Toby did not fare so easily. He did manage to escape, but only briefly. Up ahead, he saw a small, balloon-shaped animal appear in the darkness. It could only be... When it started to sing, he knew he had no chance. The ethereal melody wormed its way into his brain and in moments, he was fast asleep, completely adrift in the black sea of the unconscious.

On the east side of town, stood Ryan E. Ramsden, one of the better-known of the Minutemen. In keeping with his nature, he'd quite happily shooed his teammates away to engage in a firefight with no fewer than three of the attackers. He was taking cover behind the corner a large storage shed; if he were to turn left, he'd be on a small street with cracked asphalt and weeds growing out of it. The three had been on the verge of retreat, having already set two houses ablaze about a block away, but when the other three in their half of the force were mowed down on the run, they'd decided to try sticking it out. One invader had only a pistol and seemed to be firing haphazardly from right around the corner; one had gotten her hands on a hunting rifle, then positioned herself; the third was currently changing the ammo in his shotgun, and was intelligently hiding behind a Dumpster that itself was behind the pistol-wielder. None had pokémon that Ryan had seen. On the other side of town, everything seemed to have quieted down.

---

knockknockKNOCKBAM

The door to the Oaks' office flew open, sending Skye falling out of his chair and Rufus into a red-face shouting match with the man who came in.

"I swear to God if you do that one more time-!"

"Shut it, Rufus! Riverdale was just attacked on both sides. It was only a few, so they're not sure what to make of it, but it could easily have been warning shots from the other two cities." The man who'd just stormed in towered over both brothers with eyes like Arctic ice. His name was Jacob Thatcher, and he served as the Minister of Defense in Glenville. His short, brown hair was kept well-trimmed in a military cut, and he was most often seen as he was now - in cargo pants and a tight, white tank top, usually hauling around a rifle as though it were a Nerf gun. He was a ruggedly handsome man who had the support of the vast majority of Glenville's population for his history as something of a town hero. Most days, he smiled easy and charmingly and was not easily perturbed. At the moment, he still wasn't; he just liked irritating Rufus.

The man grinned and shot Skye a wink before reaching out a hand to help him up. Rufus was fuming, but pulling himself out of it by muttering, "I just don't understand why it required barging into my office..."

"What are you two working on, anyway? Are those acorns?" He reached out to pick one up, but had them snatched out of the way by Charlesworth's quick mind. They floated over to Skye, who pocketed them with a half-defensive, half-apologetic smile.

"Sorry... they're... mementos."

"Mentos?"

"Mementos!"

"Mememementos?" Both were grinning by this point. Jacob saw Skye as something of a younger brother and something of a colleague; Rufus, to him, was strictly a colleague, although he did try to stay friendly.

"Anyway," Rufus cut in, "what do you need me for? You're in charge of all the military... stuff."

"Yeah, most of it." He began flipping his rifle like most people would a hunting knife, making both brothers edgy in the cramped space. He stopped and pointed the butt of it at Rufus' nose. "But you need to know this kin'a stuff in case we start getting blamed, instead. Without you, God knows this city'd be picked to pieces. Anyway. Y'all get some sleep; there'll be more hell in the mornin' when the other two start whining. 'night." He stepped out into the labs and closed the door behind him.

Rufus buried his face in both hands as Skye set the acorns back out and hesitantly went back to work. "What the hell..."

Ramsden waited with his USP .45 in hand. He released Erin from her pokeball and looked at her. "3 hostiles, no pokemon to be seen, which means they all have 3 charizards each. Run a delta after I kill the first, and I'll get the hunting rifle girl after that. The third has a shotgun, retard I know, so I want you to put him in the guillotine. Him, we'll have some fun with him." Erin nodded to show she understood the commands. "Ok... come on pistol boy, run out of ammo."

Ramsden Carefully listened to shots being fired. BAM! BAM! BAM! the male was trying to provide cover fire for the shotgun reloader. All he had to do was a wait a few more seconds. BAM! BAM! Click! "And dead." He had waited until he heard the slide lock back on the gun, the unmistakable audio it produced was loud enough to be heard from a decent distance away. Ramsden popped from his corner while Erin stood poised ready for flight. When he jumped out towards the road, he rose his pistol immediately and took aim, firing. "ONE!" he called out. The moment the "whu" sound left his mouth, Erin sped off directly towards the road diagonally while Ramsden ducked again; the hunting rifle shot missed him just barely. Once Erin was at the top of the triangle for her flight, she turned around to speed back down away from the shed, and Ramsden threw himself to the other side firing at the girl who was taken aback by the green blur and her partner falling suddenly. She was hit in the neck, most of her body was being covered by her position. "Tactics b***h, learn 'em," he said to himself. "TWO!"

Erin banked a hard left to complete the delta and made her way back behind the cover. "Guillotine go," he whispered when she got next to him. He flew out from the left side again and kept running, firing randomly at the dumpster. Erin flew above the shed while the shotgunner's focus was on Ramsden. Immediately when the shotgun fired, Ramsden rolled behind a destroyed car; a few pellets of buckshot hit the front of it, and one grazed the bottom of his boot. Holy s**t that was awesome. He loved his near brushes with death. He'd had so many he figured he should start giving him high fives when he passed. He waited a few seconds, the calmly walked over to where the third man was.

Erin was hovering right behind him, her right blade pressed into the front of his neck while the left was pressed into the back, just enough to barely draw blood. "She'll do it. There's more blood on those blades than in your body." The man didn't talk, didn't move. He was just stunned by her being there. "Follow me," he said, grabbing the color of his shirt. "And gimme that," he said, grabbing the shotgun away from him. He looked at it before tossing it to the ground. "A 410? Really? You can't even... oh your death isn't gonna be fun," he said still dragging him along. Erin was now sitting on his shoulders, blades still poised. Ramsden led him over to one of the houses on fire. "See this? You did this. You did right? Right. And now you pay. Release him after he can't move." Ramsden pulled out his shotgun and pressed it against the back of the man's kneecap. "Buh bye kneecap."

"W- WAIT!"

"Nope." He fired. The man screamed in agony as his kneecap was disintegrated by the M500. Erin released immediately when the gun fired as the man fell. He crashed to the floor, holding his knee, screaming and tears streaming down his face. "Kneecap is the worst place to get shot. You know what's worse though? Death by burning." Ramsden picked the man up and threw him inside the burning house. Screams could be heard from inside as the man burned slowly to a char. "Ahhh. The sweet sound of suffering." He basked in it, and headed back to base. "I should go report to Caps that they're dead. In a fine fine manner."

Ramsden turned around with Erin happily riding on his shoulders, the flats of her blades resting on his head. He whistled on the way back to base, an old tune from one of his favorite childhood movies. Any old fans of Totoro would recall the theme song immediately. He checked over his shoulder here and there, but by this time, he figured they had all retreated on this side.

Two sets of eyes watched as Ryan Ramsden mirthfully and cruelly disposed of the invaders. The first was not well-hidden. She was what amounted to a staff sergeant in loose rankings of the Minutemen, and she was young. Her name was Amaya Jacobson. Ebony hair flowed far down her back to small, bony hips that, despite being virtually meatless, had always carried her at speeds to outmatch the wind. Her jet-black eyes sparkled the wrathful embers of the burning house towards Ramsden from behind him while she decided how she should feel about murder, even what may have been justified murder. The little green sphere with beak that perched on her shoulder pecked her cheek once, and she blinked. "Ryan!" she called out to him, and started walking forward with a natural grace, trying not to shudder at the images of the dead. "Are you alright? I think the fighting's over on the other side."

The other pair of eyes was less forward, and a little more animal. They blinked a few times in idle curiosity, then turned back to the apple their associated hands were carving, suspicions confirmed.

---

The man charging Stetson flailed to get his hands up in front of the incoming projectile, meaning he tilted partially backwards, and in the end slipped on the dewy grass and, with what would have been great skill in an intentional world, slide-tackled Stetson, kicking his feet right out from under him as the younger man began his uphill charge. Stetson landed on top of the neophyte luger, whose raticate immediately slammed its head into Stetson's, leaving the young man on the edge of consciousness. The one underneath him struggled fiercely to roll him over and began looking wildly for Ulysses.

---

Mist began straining quickly, even the well-rounded elemental capabilities of her kind unaccustomed to holding so much weight aloft. One of the four captured enemies dropped to the ground unceremoniously as her grip slipped, but the woman was quickly apprehended and put to ground by a native Cliffshirian. The other three struggled helplessly in the air, bobbling a little as they did. "Thanks, Jason!" one of the militants called cheerfully. It wasn't long before a few were headed over to pull them down and bind them.

He looked up at her and called out "YEAH I'M FINE!" He dashed off towards her and pulled her in a hug. Letting her go, he looked at her and said "I just killed like 3 people. One of them I got to burn to death, AFTER blowing off his kneecap! How could I not be fine!?" He said to her, still excited from his kills. He spun around her, Erin knowing what was going on jumped off his shoulders and hovered next to him, he pulled her into a piggy back ride. "Fighting's over on the other side? Sad. No more deaths on my part today. Well, how did your day go?" he remained in his upbeat spirits as he happily carried her back to base. His minor flirting with her was pretty frequent. He just thought it was fun.

When the man and his pokémon went running off, Ulysses stepped down from the porch to watch them go- and that's when he caught sight of the fires. Another clip of unlikely audio graced his ears, and again Ulysses was watching the stranger who was now being weighed down by a second man.

Ulysses took to a jog, Gloria fast at his heels, Djinn gliding along behind, cutting wide arcs in the retiree's wake looking like a gleeful schoolchild in spite of all the ominous goings-on. The shotgun was already loaded, and since the safety was off, Dr. Shonevsky was aiming a live weapon at the stranger that had trespassed upon his land, doing who knows what.

"All of you! Be still!" He could still be authoritative when necessary, it seemed. "Now, I'm going to be very clear about how we're doing this. I'm in charge. If that ekans or raticate so much as glances at me funny, I won't hesitate to stuff them with buckshot and have myself an exotic dinner. Furthermore, if either of you starts getting funny ideas, I'd be just as happy to give your brains some more breathing room." He let this sink in.

"Now, here's what we do: fella on top there, you just stand up, keep your hands up like you're under arrest. And you on the ground there, you're going to explain to me who you are and what the hell you were doing near outside my home."

Tavish nodded to Lexi absentmindedly. "Radio? ach, sure, s'yers. Da pokemon...hmm." Tavish turned towards the machoke. "S'long as it does'na trah tae hurt anyone else..." he picked up the machoke's pokeball and tossed it to the pokemon. "Yer free tae dae what yah please. Jist dinna hurt anyone else, aye? Enough pain's in this world a'ready...and ah dinna want tah have to kill yeh tae today. Ah'm gonna bury yer friend there n' a bit, f'yah care tah help. Other n'that, Ah'd suggest getting da hell oot a dis town...got a bad habit a more 'r less enslavin' enemy pokemon here. Yer free tah stay here, if yae need a breather. Deadeye'll get yae da first aid kit f'yah need it." He turned back to the girl, his expression grim. "Ah'm sorry yah had tae see that. Yah got any family here? If so, wae should be headin' back that way soon...Ah'd wanna bae indoors come mornin...toowns ginna want blood." He sighed mournfully, turning his head upwards toward the sky.