The nightmare began in the quietest way possible.
No warning. No roar. No flash of red light. Just… absence.
Orion had stepped out of the trainer dorms early, rubbing sleep from his eyes, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. He'd gone downstairs to grab food from the Center kiosk. Two minutes—maybe three.
When he came back, Tyrunt was gone.
He froze in the doorway.
The blanket pile in the corner of the dorm room—empty. The Poké Ball, which had been sitting on the nightstand, its outer shell still faintly scuffed from the Gym fight—gone.
"Tyrunt?" he called.
Nothing.
He turned, checking under the bunk, behind the lockers, inside his bag twice. His voice started to rise.
"Tyrunt?"
Still nothing.
He ran to the front desk, barely remembering to breathe.
"Did someone check out my Pokémon?"
The nurse looked up from her console. "What species?"
"Tyrunt. His ball was in the room. It's gone now. I was only gone a few minutes—"
"No checkouts on that species," she said, frowning. "Are you sure it wasn't recalled?"
"I didn't recall him!"
Other trainers were starting to glance over now, murmuring.
Orion's throat tightened.
"Can you check the hallway cameras?" he asked.
She gave him a firm look. "Center footage is League-restricted. Only enforcement officers can access it."
"Then call one."
Elias met him outside twenty minutes later. Orion was pacing the curb, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms.
"They took him," he muttered. "They took him while I was downstairs."
Elias stood quietly for a long moment. Then:
"Inside job?"
"Poké Ball was on the table. Someone walked in and just… picked it up."
"No forced entry?"
Orion shook his head. "Door wasn't locked. I didn't think I'd need to—"
"Don't blame yourself."
"Who else should I blame?"
A League enforcer arrived—standard issue vest, clipboard, gray uniform with a digital scanner hanging from his belt. He took Orion's statement, asked a few procedural questions, and recorded the Poké Ball serial number. Then he clipped his stylus back onto his tablet and exhaled.
"We'll issue a broadcast to the trainer network," he said. "If the capsule pings another registered station, we'll be notified."
"That's it?" Orion asked.
The man didn't flinch. "Pokémon theft is a crime, but in this district? It's hard to trace. Most street-level resale ends up off-network in less than a day."
"You're saying he's already gone."
"I'm saying the odds are slim," the enforcer said. "I'm sorry. We'll do what we can."
He walked away without another word.
Orion stood there, staring into the spot where the man had stood, mouth still open.
Then he turned.
"I'm not waiting for them."
Elias met his eyes. "You're going after him?"
"I'm going to find him."
"Do you even know where to start?"
Orion didn't answer.
The first place he went was the crate yard.
By noon, the sky was already smeared with smoke again, the air damp with ore vapor and distant metal. Orion moved fast—hood up, eyes scanning faces. He didn't look like a trainer. Not today.
He looked like a threat.
Elias followed at a distance. Close enough to intervene if something went wrong, far enough not to draw extra attention. He let Orion take the lead.
They passed vendors with tarp-covered carts, rusted signs promising repairs, gear polishing, or "custom Poké Ball refitting—no questions asked."
Orion stopped near the edge of a storage yard. Workers were unloading boxes from a long-haul transport truck. One of them glanced up at him—just for a second too long.
Orion stepped closer.
"You seen a Tyrunt? Capsule with ID 9A-C42G."
The worker blinked. "What?"
"I'm not playing," Orion growled. "Someone took my partner this morning. He's young, horn cracked on the left side, front fang chipped. He'll bite anyone who tries to handle him."
"Hey, kid—"
"Have you seen him?"
"I don't know anything, alright?" the man said, holding up his hands. "You need to ask someone else."
Orion didn't move.
The man looked at Elias, who was approaching now.
"This your friend?" he asked.
"He's my witness," Orion said.
"Then tell him to get you out of here before someone else takes something else from you."
Elias stepped between them. "Let's go."
They hit five other stops by nightfall.
Nothing.
No leads.
No sightings.
No trace.
By dusk, Orion had gone from determined to fractured.
He sat on the broken lip of a loading ramp, face in his hands, breathing slow and heavy. His pack lay discarded at his side. The Poké Balls on his belt were empty. He'd never felt them feel so… useless before.
Elias crouched nearby.
"They're professionals," he said quietly. "You think you're the first trainer to lose a Pokémon to people like this?"
"No," Orion rasped. "But I'm going to be the first to get one back."
Elias didn't argue.
Instead, he pulled out a burner phone—low network, short range—and tapped a number.
"You're calling someone?"
"Yeah. A guy who owes me."
"League?"
"No," Elias said. "The other side."
Orion looked up.
"Then let's go."