Welcome to Gaia! ::

Thank you. As much as I want to say, it would be easier in person. And I'm in a hurry, sorry.

And then Ben was off, rushing towards Gotengo.
((And then not at all because I'm lazy and unimaginative, the post ended suddenly, to be continued on tomorrow))

"Yeah, my team's precise." Salieri held up the Radar, moving it around like a phone she was getting service for. "Let's not bother with your deadweight-hey, look."

It finished loading, and Salieri held it so Zack could see as well. The screen now displayed a rudimentary radar, with their position in the middle and an expanding search circle. Off the corner of the screen came a blinking light. No doubt it was the Darkhorse Hunter. The compass on the screen told them it was to the east.

To the east was Route 12, a sprawling countryside with wide open farmland and a bordering forest. He was hiding somewhere out there. Salieri released Banksy and propped a foot on. "When we get close enough he'll realize what we're up to, so we have to be quick. Stand behind me, unless you want us both to fall off."

If Zack got onto the shell, then the Torkoal would lift into the air with her White Smoke and they'd jettison themselves towards Route 12.

Coumarine City - Pokémon Center

'Well then, I do believe I shall take my leave right about now. Hope to see you around!' said Mr. Bonding as he left the young trainer alone in her room. He caught his reflection in a mirror over a drinking fountain and stopped to position his hair, button his shirt, straighten his tie. With a dab of saliva, he neatened his moustache and smiled to himself. Much better than the rat who'd endured an hour of police questioning before his benefactor's Liaison had him released. His jaw still ached red from where that boor Zack Redgrave had laid him out. Nothing a little foundation couldn't fix.

'Shall we see how our little friends are coping?' he purred to himself before turning 90 degrees and marching along the corridor to his base of operations. It was a special room arranged for him by his benefactor, and he had the only key. Bonding undid the lock, pressed his palm to the sensor past the door, disabling the alarm, and closed himself in.

The room was drab, sparsely furnished, except for a small bed, a standing clothes hanger, and a desk with half a dozen computer monitors glowing in the dark. One of the screens had gone dead, and Bonding flushed with cold anger. Did those two know how long it took him to build that Chatot Robot? Far longer than it took him to invent the name, come to think of it. He really ought to come up with something snappier.

Bonding immersed himself in the computers' pale glow, his seat groaning under his weight. One Chatot Robot down, five more to go. Each had an AI that kept them surveilling the area around Shalour and Coumarine, stopping only to recharge by perching on power lines. If those little pests were anywhere near the two cities, he'd know.

'Ah,' he said, his stomach falling out. Three of the screens showed Zack and Salieri racing through the sky on the back of a flying Torkoal, headed right for the pokémon center with some kind of device. 'Ahhhh.'

Not good. Bonding grabbed the controls for his Chatot Robots and hammered in commands. They would simultaneously cease their patrols and engage in diversionary tactics. The three placed in Coumarine would immediately swoop toward the two trainers, pecking at them, weaving in and out and doing their utmost to push the trainers off the Torkoal. Their metal talons would draw some serious blood if they got a touch, and he knew one touch was all he needed to send both trainers reeling in pain.

He licked his lips and grinned. This was going to be fun.

The countryside vanished, replaced Coumarine Bay water. They crossed the sky on a jet of white smoke like a particularly nimble nimbus, the wind threatening to throw them into the sea. Zack's adrenaline jumped as the Chabots took flight, their angular silhouettes closing in fast. Two flew from over Hillcrest Cliff, one from the dockland half of the city, flashing their talons. Great.

Malis materialised with a growl, grabbing the grooves of the Torkoal's shell for purchase. The girl trainer ordered him to attack, but Zack shouted over her. 'We may be bonded but it's still my pokémon! Malis! Smokescreen!'

Instead of flames, Malis opened his maw and unleashed a thick fog of smoke. It jetted forward then dispersed like a black cloud, swamping not just the trainers but the Chabots as well. They'd be flying blind, but more importantly the Chabots wouldn't be able to see them.

'There,' Zack said, 'now we're not flying into fire.'

A Chabot screeched nearby, using a synthesized approximation of a real Chatot's cry. Another one echoed it, then a third cried from somewhere below. Zack felt his skin prickle at the thought of them using echolocation to track where the trainers were. Surely they weren't that advanced? Colour flashed through the black smoke to his side, just out of view. Malis took a deep breath and unleashed another layer of Smokescreen, keeping them shrouded for now.

Banksy needed to crest the cliff or they'd fly right into it. While Zack was in the middle of hoping that the old girl had enough strength to lift them high enough, one of the Chabots spotted the trainers. Zack saw it, but he wasn't the target. It lunged downwards, talons first, attacking the back of Salieri's head. If she didn't do something, it'd dig its talons into her shoulders, its feet like knives, and screech loudly so that the other Chabots could find them before striking her skull with its beak.

'God damn, I wanna bang you!'

The Chabot span out and vanished into the black smoke, its cries disappearing with it. Again the voices sounded, the echoing cries attempting to find the trainers, dripping with blood, '********!' '********!' '******** knew what was going through Salieri's head when she tapped her foot, and felt the urge to swear himself. Right before they hit the cliff, Banksy twisted upwards, going straight vertical. Malis held on tight, his legs dangling behind him as they soared up the side of the cliff. Zack, on the other hand, had no hands. As talented a pokémon rider as he was, he couldn't keep hold like this, and fell backwards into the Smokescreen, which lit up with brief flame as one of the Chabots exploded into the cliffside.

The others upped their screeches, high pitched, relentless. With naught below but jagged rocks and crashing waves, Zack's body weight threatened to yank Salieri right off Banksy's shell, and do the Chabots' work for them.

Zack lurched as they crested the cliff, and landed back on Banksy's shell. His fingers felt like they were bleeding, and perhaps they were, echoing the pain Salieri must've felt gripping the turtle's shell. He had little time to check. Banksy caught herself on a cushion of white smoke, leaving Malis's Smokescreen behind, and burst forward with surprising speed.

The group span and Malis, who had tried getting to his feet, nearly went flying. Banksy's Flame Burst exploded as the two remaining Chabots flew over the cliffside, but they were agile enough to avoid the wave of flames, parting ways and hiding behind two nearby houses. Banksy returned to her usual orientation, and Malis successfully stood upright. The Chabots screeched, darting over the houses, keeping pace. Zack was tempted to use Smokescreen again, but it was too risky. Banksy might be able to avoid a cliff, but Coumarine City proper was far too built up, its buildings tightly packed, its streets populated by people and cars, to navigate blind.

He needed the aerial advantage.

'Salieri, recall Malis and get me Lethal,' he shouted over the rush of wind. 'It's time target practice went into practice.'

Coumarine City - Pokémon Center

'Argh!' Bonding pounded his desk in frustration as his Chatot Robot collided with the cliff. The other two were hot on the trainers' trail, narrowly avoiding the surprise Flame Burst, their screens a blur of brickwork and garden plants as they soared behind the houses.

'This cannot be happening,' Bonding said to himself, sweating through his shirt, heart pounding. How did they know where he was? The monitors showed open sky as the Chatot Robots flew overhead, and zoomed in on their targets. There, in Salieri's hand. 'That device!'

All he had to do was get it out of her hand and he'd win. Sweat beading down his cheek, he hammered more commands.

Coumarine City Streets

An old lady dived out of Banksy's way as the group shot down the Coumarine street, tailed by the two Chabots. The AIs received Bonding's command, and changed tactic. Their synthetic feathers retracted into their bodies and were repurposed; the tiny metal rods comprising each feather lined up in the Chabots' stomachs like a belt of bullets.

When they opened their mouths, it was to the sound of an internal machine whirring, followed by a spray of needles that streaked up the street towards the two trainers. If they hit, they'd have enough force to dig right into the trainers' flesh. One stream of needles went diagonally across the group, attempting to get at least a few needles into both trainers, while the other stream targeted Salieri specifically.

Specifically her hand. Specifically the hand holding the tracker. If it hit, she'd likely lose her grip, and the tracker would clatter into the street, giving Bonding enough time to escape.

(("No, that's your mother!"))

'The Clawitzer!' Zack shouted back, ducking when a low-hanging back alley bar sign nearly took his head off. He looked back. The Chabots swooped into the the alley. It was thick with smoke, but they had a clear window of visibility and no room to maneuver. One vertical burst of needles would be enough to take the trainers down, and the Chabots had two.

They started firing, needles tracing up the length of the alleyway. In a few seconds, they'd tear into the trainers and topple them from their ride.

'Doesn't matter, just throw the Snorlax!' If Salieri did, then Fatass would materialise in mid air in an alley too narrow for his girth. He'd crush the alley walls, which would keep him suspended level with the trainers, and absorb the volley of needles for them.