"We're Team Rocket, and we're a group seeking ways to make Pokemon training, breeding, and raising a financially-viable career option!"

The dark uniforms stood out strangely against the morning countryside, and Rust couldn't help that his eyes were drawn toward them. They had a banner and table set out, clearly here to recruit those interested in their cause.

Some of the locals and travellers were already approaching the bubbly, socialite woman, mildly bemused by what she had to say.

Being a trainer was a very profitable career, that was indeed true.

Sure, kids were encouraged to go on pilgrimages, but that was more about independence and self-discovery. They were all expected to use that journey to find the right career path for themselves to settle down. Most of them don't really pursue the Pokemon League seriously, anyways.

In reality, among those in the career path centered upon Pokemon, only those that worked in gyms and trainer schools had stable incomes. Ace Trainers were freelance mercenaries as far as people were concerned, and Pokemon Professors needed to churn out lots of research to even barely sustain a lifestyle.

Rust could understand why Team Rocket's roadside marketing spree was a good business tactic. A day where people could simply travel around the world, doing nothing but enjoy the world of Pokemon, was still very far off.

But something was off.

"Have you ever been troubled that your Pidgey isn't strong enough to defend against wild Pokemon attacks? Well fear not!" the red-haired Team Rocket lady puts her hands together sweetly as her stoical blue-haired partner hands out brochures. "They can be trained in our facility, to become strong, capable workers! And soon, you can even send them out to be your little breadwinners, heading out of the town to do odd jobs!"

At this point in society, something like that was still unheard of.

The enthusiasm in the crowd was great.

"Are you for real?"

"It's a real concern! The Rattata around these parts have been eating into my stock lately..."

"People in Pallet can't even travel freely over. If only my Spearow was a little stronger, it could walk my son to and back without needing to wait for the men in the evening."

Something was suspicious about Team Rocket. People were now filling up their box with their Pokemon, labelling them nicely and recording their names in a book. Some even came upfront and paid a fee for the supposed training program.

Rust's feelings of uncertainty were shared by someone else. He watched the scene from beside the Pokemon Center doors, but there was someone else— a slightly older girl who couldn't be much older than himself, also watching the scene warily. She was dressed distinctly like a ninja— a kunoichi?--- she's clearly a travelling trainer on her pilgrimage.

"...hey," the kunoichi speaks up, turning to Rust. "You're doubtful, too?"

Rust nods. He couldn't describe it— red flags, alarm bells, whichever and whatever it was, he couldn't pinpoint exactly what was off with it. It was just instinct .

"You two are trainers, right?"

Both of them spin around, looking downward. The child was younger than Rust, but his eyes were set firmly into a spiteful scowl. He's half-hidden behind the walls of the Pokemon Center building, but he's clearly speaking to these two.

His hair is short, and red.

"Then hurry up and stop them," the boy hisses. "They're not giving those Pokemon back. They're packing it up, running, and then selling them on the black market."

"What?!" the kunoichi spins, alarmed, and Rust's eyes widened. "Is that true?"

The young redhead nods.

Perhaps, they should have doubted a little more. But they were all naive children, and in hindsight, they were right, so it's all well it ended well.

The kunoichi turns to Rust. "I'll handle this. You, go call the police!"

-

Apparently, her name is Janine, and along with being a trainer on her pilgrimage, she was also a probationary member in the International Police force.

When she'd gallantly questioned whether Team Rocket had any Training Institute licenses, they immediately crumbled. By the time the local police came by with Rust to investigate, they had scurried, making themselves scarce.

"Enough, Ariana," Rust hears the man whisper, "we'll count our losses here. We need to retreat before we're compromised."

And the red-haired lady groans audibly, spinning back to tuck her face a little further under her hat. "This time."

Janine doesn't pursue them, and she discourages anyone else from doing the same. It wasn't worth it— there was clearly a bigger organization at work, and arresting just two to demand a full investigation was beyond the authority of local police, anyways.

"Unbelievable! Scammers!"

"She was so friendly, I knew something was wrong!"

"Oh, that was so close! I'd nearly lost you forever, my Pokemon!"

Needless to say, that had been a close call for everyone. The name of 'Team Rocket' comes into question, and people scattered to spread the gossip further around town.

Janine steps up to Rust.

"I only recently graduated from police training school," she admits. "I don't really have the authority to make arrests of any sort, so I could only put on a bravado show for all that. So I'm grateful for the help."

Rust shrugs, it's no big deal.

Even so, she was the only reason they managed to chase Team Rocket off, since they didn't have any proof of their deeds, so she was really selling herself short.

"That kid..." Rust looks around, "he's gone."

Who was that kid with the red hair?

Whoever he had been, he clearly knew much more about Team Rocket's workings, despite being so young.

"Before I forget," the girl comes around, "you probably heard, but my name's Janine. I'm a Trainer with three badges, for now. It's nice to meet you."

Rust takes her hand, shaking it firmly. "...Rust," he says. "No badges."

"So you're a newbie," she says. Someone from the police force calls her over, seemingly to confirm her rank and temporary license. She sighs fondly. "Good luck, then! I've gotta go now, so I guess I'll see you around sometime."

Rust nods.

-

It's been barely a day since he's set out, and he's already exhausted. He's almost envious that Bell ran on ahead.

...he's almost envious.

Because he's already caught up to Bell in Viridian Forest.

"Wha— Rust!" Bell yelps. He's sprawled on the ground, his wheelchair beside him. One wheel looks slightly off its fitting, and there's a family of concerned-looking Caterpie behind that tree, so Rust can kind of guess what happened. He probably got distracted by— ah, berries— and accidentally ran over one of them, or something, and toppled over. The mud on his sleeves check out.

Bulbasaur had its vines out, but Bell was clearly trying to get back up on his own.

They stare at each other in complete silence for ten whole seconds. Then Bell is first to crack, of course. "What are you staring at?!" he barks. "This ain't a show!"

Well, if he was going to get yelled at anyways....

Rust releases Squirtle, and while the two Pokemon reunite cheerfully, Rust heads over to the wheelchair, inspecting the wheel. From this angle he better identifies the loose screw, along with the brake, which had been bumped out and tucked the wrong side in, jamming the wheel in place.

"Hey, I didn't ask for your help," Bell sneers.

At that, Rust stands up straight, setting his hands behind him before taking a very pointed step backward.

And then he proceeds to stare very intently at Bell, who was still on the grass.

"...Stop staring," Bell snaps.

Rust lifts his hands and covers both his eyes, but he doesn't move away.

"Fushi!" Bell hisses, looking at Bulbasaur and pointing up at Rust, "Vine Whip!"

Bulbasaur balks, deeply offended. It actually looks between Rust and Bell, then at a frowning Squirtle, and then lifts its vines up in an X. No can do, Bulbasaur's got standards.

Rust is clearly peeking out of his fingers, but when Bell looks over, he covers it up again.

Bell makes a frustrated groan.

"Agh, fine," he throws his hands into the air. "If you're going to just stand there, then you might as well make yourself useful. Help me out!"

Rust claps, very impressed by his honesty.

In retaliation, Bell yanks the easiest thing in reach— an empty Poke Ball at his belt— and vehemently pitches it toward Rust's head.

The loud bonk was very satisfying.

-

It's quite fortunate that Rust's wearing gloves, cause he couldn't have gotten enough leverage to yank the lever back in place without them.

Then he hears something crack, and he and Bell both freeze.

"Was that—" Bell leans over.

Rust's thumb was a little out of place. Apparently, Rust had used too much strength and dislocated his own damn thumb. He didn't exactly have a pain indicator to tell him how much strength was too much, after all.

They both stare at it, flabbergasted— and then, in complete unison, they panic .

Sure, Rust has broken his wrist turning doorknobs before, but they're not home, they're in the middle of a damn jungle, and there's no Professor Oak to yell for.

"Put it back!" Bell hisses. "Put it. Back?!"

Rust didn't know how. Everyone always told him not to touch things that don't look right. His pain sensors don't work, so since he never knows if it's broken or just bent and he'd just make it worse. Maybe he should just leave it be.

"No?! NO. Absolutely do not just give up on it!"

Eventually, Squirtle has to shout at them to calm down, and Bulbasaur reaches over with its vines, inspecting the bone carefully before affixing it back with some educated guessing.

They all simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief.

At least the wheelchair was fine now.

"...don't expect me to thank you," Bell mumbles stubbornly, looking away.

Rust sighs. Beside him, Squirtle walks up with a Poke Ball, the same one Bell had thumped him in the head with, in hand. It didn't know what to do with it.

"Thanks for the Poke Ball," Rust says instead.

Bell sputters. "Wha– I wasn't giving it to you!" he says, flustered. Rust starts walking away, so Bell scrambles back up to his wheelchair, "hey, wait up! Rust— ugh! Whatever, loser!" he gives up halfway, resorting to just shouting. "Take the damn Poke Ball!"

Bulbasaur cheerfully waves at Rust as they leave in the opposite direction. Bell seethes , but he just sits in his chair and sulks.

Rust adjusts his hat.

Well, he'll consider that a win on his part.

-

Viridian Forest was huge, so they ended up having to camp out for the night. They huddle with the traveling trainers, who have congregated by a campfire.

Bell very pointedly pretends not to know Rust, and happily socializes with the older trainers. They're friendly, happy enough to share their food, and chatted about their adventures to while away the evening. There's enough for everyone to have seconds, including the Pokemon.

Rust is honestly very impressed when Bell is offered lots of help, from supplementary items, to tips on Pewter Gym, to a couple scouts being incredibly happy to set up his tent for him. Rust is offered help as well, but he dismisses them in a half anxious, half polite stupor, because it's okay, he can handle himself. He would feel bad, if they helpe him do everything. He wanted to try on his own.

He appreciates just being able to camp near other trainers, since that allows for people to take shifts on watch and everyone else to have a sound night of sleep.

The power of socialization is fearsome indeed...

Rust inspects his Pokedex and the Pokemon he'd caught along the way. He'd managed to catch one of every species in this forest... or, he thinks so, at least. Actually, no, it's just a rumour, but apparently, Pikachu can be found in this forest? He'll have to try finding one, but they're just so insanely rare...

Squirtle leans over his lap, looking boredly into his Pokedex. Rust pats it on the shell.

Come to think of it... he's intending on keeping this Squirtle around, so perhaps he should nickname it. It just seems appropriate. Even Bell nicknames his Pokemon, if he'd heard right back there, and honestly, Rust thought that was very unexpected of him.

But he isn't going to go up and ask him why he did that, so he just chews on that thought silently.

"Nickname," he turns to Squirtle, picking it— him— up and placing him in his lap. Squirtle tilts his head aside, curious about the sudden intimacy. Rust's not a very imaginative person, so he'll just go with his first impression. It's got a shell, so, " Shelter. Can I call you that?"

Squirtle brightens immediately. He nods, and Rust blankly nods back.

"Okay," he says, "let's get along, Shelter."

Squirtle cheers affirmatively, raising a hand. Rust doesn't quite understand, but he raises his own hand, meeting it in a high five of sorts.

At night, he sets his hat down beside him, curling into his sleeping bag, loosely cradling Squirtle in his arms. Squirtle doesn't retreat into his shell, but he rests his head on Rust's arm, and relaxes.

The forest floor is cold, and the stark silence of the night is a loneliness Rust remembers very well— but he realizes how warm it is to be curled up beside someone else for once.

His first night of independence makes him realize how much he's craved for freedom.