Sublevel 9-B – Infiltration Night
The coolant tunnel stank like mold and old iron.
Orion crawled behind Elias, his palms scraping on damp concrete as they slithered through the corroded pipe system. The air was thick with condensation, and every movement echoed louder than it should have.
He hated it.
Every drop of water, every clink of metal, every moment he couldn't see Tyrunt clawed at his spine. But he kept crawling. One knee after the other.
Behind them, a valve groaned open. Elias glanced back, mouth drawn tight.
"This is the last exit before the bypass chamber," he whispered. "Once we drop in, we're inside the outer perimeter. No more rehearsals."
Orion nodded.
He didn't need a speech.
They pushed forward into darkness.
The bypass chamber connected to a lateral power duct—unused since the coolant towers above had been decommissioned. Now it was just a passage for rodents, rust, and the occasional leak.
They moved silently.
Elias held a blackout light in one gloved hand, bouncing its narrow beam against the walls as they moved. Ahead, they could already hear the distant hiss of containment tubes and the low, dull hum of electronics.
Then came the voices.
Two of them. Men. Close.
Elias held up a hand.
They crouched against the wall.
"...says it's flagged for shipping tomorrow morning. Not the whole batch—just the ones marked red."
"Yeah, well, the handler says the fossil's still unstable. Bit clean through a tech's glove yesterday."
"Still? Thought they pumped it with dampener serum."
"They did. Didn't work."
"Then get rid of it."
"Not our call."
Boots passed. Faint, deliberate steps.
Then silence.
Elias motioned forward.
They entered containment.
The hallway was lit by strips of low red LED. It gave the whole place a submerged look—like they were inside the belly of a steel whale. To either side, glass and metal cages stretched out into the dark, some housing Pokémon, others completely empty. A few Poké Balls sat in magnetic racks beneath ID plates.
Tyrunt's cage was ahead.
Still in the third position, just like before.
Orion rushed forward, heart thudding.
"Tyrunt," he whispered, kneeling.
The dinosaur lay curled in the corner. Muzzle removed, but limbs still lightly bound. He blinked slowly at Orion, eyes flicking up to meet his.
This time, he didn't growl.
"Hey, buddy," Orion murmured. "I'm here. We're getting you out."
He pulled out the Poké Ball from his belt.
The real one.
Pressed the button.
Nothing.
He blinked.
Looked again.
It wasn't Tyrunt's capsule.
It was a new one. Same model. Same size. Different wear patterns—no scuffs on the edges. Too clean.
Wrong Poké Ball.
He checked his bag. Searched his pockets.
Nothing.
He must have left Tyrunt's real capsule in the supply pack upstairs—right next to the coolant valve hatch. Rookie mistake.
"I don't have your ball," he whispered. "Okay. New plan."
He reached for the cage lock.
Elias hissed. "We don't have time."
"I'm not leaving him."
"I didn't say that. But you can't trigger the door without pinging the network."
"Then kill the power."
Elias swore under his breath. "Thirty seconds. That's all I can give you."
He darted toward the breaker panel.
Orion turned back to Tyrunt.
"I'm going to carry you out if I have to, alright? But we're getting out. I swear it."
The lights flickered.
Then went out.
Emergency strobes kicked in—dim amber pulses every five seconds. Sirens didn't blare. Not yet. But the hum of the system was down.
Orion ripped open the latch.
Tyrunt stumbled forward.
Orion caught him. The dinosaur growled once—then slumped into his arms.
"I got you," he whispered.
He turned to go—then stopped.
Another rack of Poké Balls sat nearby.
A crate had been left half-open next to it—half the capsules inside still stacked neatly. They all looked the same. Plain. Unmarked.
Except one.
It was resting beside the crate. As if someone had set it down for a moment, then forgotten it. The top half shimmered faint green under the strobes—not painted, just the faintest iridescent sheen.
Orion's eyes flicked to the rack labels. No names. Just numbers.
Tyrunt groaned.
No time.
He grabbed the ball without thinking, shoved it into the side pocket of his jacket, and hoisted Tyrunt up again.
"Go!" Elias's voice barked.
They ran.
The escape wasn't clean.
Someone had noticed the power dip.
By the time they reached the coolant duct again, security was already shouting across the back chambers. Doors were slamming. Lights were flickering on in waves.
Elias climbed first, using a looped cable as a ladder. Orion followed, clutching Tyrunt in one arm, scraping his boots against the pipe wall to gain traction.
They cleared the duct just before the access valve locked shut again.
No sirens chased them.
But they didn't slow down.
It was almost sunrise when they finally stopped running.
They crouched behind a rusted generator at the edge of the eastern junk fields, lungs burning, boots soaked. Tyrunt lay against Orion's side now, breathing rough but steady. His eyes were clearer. Not calm—but clearer.
Elias was already checking the exit routes. "We have to move west by nightfall. This district's going to be under sweep for the next two days."
Orion nodded absently.
Then he pulled out the Poké Ball.
The green one.
He hadn't had time to think about it before. But now, in the light, it looked wrong.
Not black market wrong.
Too perfect.
No serial code.
No owner ID.
He turned it over—and found a small emblem etched near the center seam.
A stylized Torterra crest. The mark of a registered champion-line breeder.
"What the hell is this…?"
Elias glanced over. "You picked that up in the chaos?"
"I thought it was Tyrunt's."
"You don't make that kind of capsule by accident," Elias said quietly. "That's pedigree. Not store-bought. Not clone-farmed. Legacy stock."
Orion's throat went dry.
He hadn't meant to take it.
He hadn't even realized he had.
But now…
He clipped it to his belt.
One mystery at a time.