A/N - Firstly I would like to say that this is not exactly a sequel to Glitched. It is, however, set in the same universe just... many, many years later. There are references to the events in Glitched (so it's spoilerly if you did decide you wanted to read it) but it doesn't require you to know those events prior to reading this, so it can stand alone.

I also intend for this to be a rather long story. Almost an epic. So all being well, you're in for a long, action-packed and (hopefully!) fun ride! =D

Disclaimer (applies to entire story) I do NOT own Pokemon or any of its critters!

Part One - Living Computer

Chapter One

Proxy City stank. Even with the mask filtering the air it stank. Macro resisted the urge to abandon the box he was carrying to tighten the straps over his muzzle further.

The young mawile strutted along the barren streets, clutching the cumbersome metal crate in both paws. Beside him a tall granbull plodded heavily along, carrying his own crate as though it contained nothing but feathers. His purple mohawk poked up between his curved, pink ears, blowing backwards slightly as they walked against the breeze. He couldn't see Anchor's face through the heavy, beak-like brown leather mask, but he could hear his breathing loud and clear through the noisy filter. He wondered briefly if they needed a good clean.

They rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding a stream of muck along the gutter that the sheer sight alone made Macro's stomach turn. A low, dingy building came into view. Despite its height - one floor, two at a push - it was massive. A low, long spread. Likely a former estate for the less fortunate who couldn't afford the luxuries in the more prestigious cities.

Macro finally deposited his crate on the floor, careful not to drop it in the gutter's toxic stream. It would probably burn through the metal and damage the contents - if it could even damage them in the first place. He whisked his foot out of the way as the crate toppled onto its base with a clatter and looked up at the building.

"Careful!" Anchor stopped behind him, his huge shadow making the dingy building look even more unwelcoming. "That stuff leaks they'll be after our necks!"

Macro tutted and pressed a claw to the button on his ear piece. A flash of green shot across his vision and the array of text told him that this was the place. He strode over to the worn and somewhat slimy door and struck the same claw onto the buzzer. Greasy. He stifled a grimace and wiped it off onto his black scarf. A mistake he was soon regretting since he'd only just laundered it that morning.

"Who's there?!" The voice sounded as sticky as the door.

"Wildcard," Macro replied. "We've got the package you ordered."

The door was almost wrenched off its hinges, revealing the lumpy face of a muk. The immense pokemon looked like he couldn't fit through the door, but these creatures could slide through the smallest of gaps. Despite the mask, Macro was certain the stench just got worse. He made a mental note to check their efficiency when he got back on board his ship.

The muk's large eyes bulged out of his head when he saw the crates. "Just two?!"

One slimy arm whisked past the mawile, catching his scarf and leaving a rather unsightly streak of purplish-grey. This time he did grimace, but it was hidden well beneath his mask. Good. The muk would probably have eaten him for breakfast.

Well... supper, at this time.

"It's all we could get," Anchor told the muk. "They keep those places under high security these days. We've got a price on our heads, you know that."

"Don't care." The muk turned his eyes onto the granbull then looked back down at Macro. "I specifically requested three. I'm only paying half."

"Half?!" Macro seethed. "You should pay two thirds at least!"

The muk snorted, sending a purple snot bubble onto the hem of Macro's scarf where it dripped to the floor to join the rest of the grime.

Macro's muzzle crinkled into a frown, but it went unseen. "Two thirds. Call the rest of it a commission fee."

"Fine. Take your two thirds, runt." The muk ignored Macro's leer. He reached inside his body and pulled out a flat, metal card. It expanded out into a holographic display of text that to Macro was backwards. "You space pirates make me sick. Commission fee my left foot."

Macro wanted to explain that the muk had no feet, but he didn't want to be the first pokemon to discover they actually had by receiving one to the face. His scarf was filthy enough. A small beep came from his belt pouch and he switched on his optical display again, checking his credits balance with professional speed. Yup. Two thirds. And an insult. One of the drawbacks of being able to leave little notes with deposits. He pretended he hadn't seen it.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya!" Macro shoved his metal crate forwards. "Two crates of black sludge. Enjoy."

"Aye!" Anchor placed his own crate atop Macro's, blocking out the muk's seething face. "Remember us to your friends."

The muk threw a string of toxic profanity the mask was completely unable to filter out. Macro turned his back on the squat building and carefully hopped over the brown stream. Anchor fell into step beside him and clasped his large pink paws behind his back.

"You know," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his filter, "if you get any more shrill, Cap'n, you might get mistaken for a staraptor."

Macro met the granbull's eyes with a violet leer.

"You sassin' me?!" Macro hissed.

"See, this is exactly my point," Anchor went on. "You need to watch your tone. Use your inside castle voice."

Macro clenched his paws together. Oh, how he wanted to ignore the dog's jibes. He jerked his head towards the sky. "Shut your yap, Anchor, and call my ship."

The granbull chuckled and tapped a complex pattern across the screen of his wrist computer.

Macro folded his arms and resisted the urge to lean against the boarded up shop he'd stopped beside.

"Stupid slime ball called me 'runt'," he said.

"Well... don't take this the wrong way, cap'n," said Anchor. "But you do know you're a little..."

"You say short, I'll crack you one with my horn."

Anchor chuckled and folded his large arms.

"I don't know why Meta City won't just employ these filthy pokemon," said Macro. "It'd solve a lot of problems. I mean, they practically eat pollution."

"Yeh," said Anchor. "They also poop it back out again afterward, and it's even more toxic after passing through their bodies."

Macro shrugged. "So? At least they could dispose of it much more cleanly. Pass it into a sewage system rather than flooding through Proxy's streets."

Anchor gave a non-committal grunt and looked down at his wrist computer. Macro glanced up at the brown sky, noting the familiar hulk of Wildcard Gamma as it slowly moved above them. His eyes wandered back to the boarded up buildings and sludge-filled streets, scanning over the unreadable shop signs and ragged posters that fluttered in the light breeze. One of them sported the face of a mawile with a jagged scar over his muzzle. 'Wanted. Hunter. Ten Thousand Credits.'

"I wonder what this city used to be like?" he said. "Before it became this."

"Probably like the ones in System Sky," said Anchor. "Pubs, bakeries, clubs, factories. All that jazz."

Flash after flash of pink shot down behind Anchor in a familiar ladder of neon lights and he leapt up, grabbing onto one of the higher rungs. It immediately began to shoot back up into the sky and Macro bolted towards it, grabbing the lowest rung before it was yanked out of his reach.

"Would you stop doing that?!" he shrieked at the granbull.

Anchor laughed heartily. "See? What did I tell ya? Shrill!"

The neon beam ladder dragged them both upwards towards the blue belly of Wildcard Gamma. The giant schooling wishiwashi-themed ship dominated the sky above Proxy City, casting its giant shadow down onto the rundown buildings miles below them. The ladder's beams blinked out one by one, allowing the ones below it to take one step after another towards the opening. Anchor dragged himself aboard before his beam reached it, then he stretched down a paw towards Macro.

The mawile's paw was dwarfed inside the granbull's claws and he was lifted effortlessly into the hatch. It hissed shut behind them and Macro let the panel beside the inside door read his paw print. The door opened with a sucking sound as air rushed out of it, blowing his fur back. Once they were both safely inside the confines of Wildcard Gamma, he instinctively went to wipe his paws down onto his scarf and froze, instead shaking them off and checking over his yellow fur. Dusty. Or grimy. He couldn't really tell. He snorted and yanked the mask off his face, taking a deep breath of clean air before turning into the narrow corridor leading to the cockpit.

"Another successful mission, eh?" Anchor said as he removed his own mask.

"It could've gone better." Macro rubbed at the jagged scar over the left side of his muzzle. "Anyway, at least we can afford to eat for the next couple of months."

"That's what I like to hear!" The jovial voice came from the kitchen.

Macro glanced over at the door, meeting the beaming eyes of their chef, Cookie. The brown slurpuff licked his lips and gave the two pokemon a happy nod.

"Welcome back then, Captain!" he said. "I'll have supper ready soon! I made berry pancakes!"

Macro's mouth involuntarily filled with saliva and he turned his back on the slurpuff, raising his hand in a wave.

"I'll be waiting for the bell," he said.

Cookie chuckled and his feet shuffled over the floor as he returned to the kitchen. The slurpuff's shuffling feet were drowned out by Anchor's hulking footsteps as he fell in step beside the mawile, all the while humming a cheerful tune as they strode into the cockpit.

A lone ribombee sat by the navigation system with his back to them, watching the array of green and red blinking across the black holographic screen. He reached behind him to hand Macro his brass goggles that matched the bug pokemon's own.

"Thanks, Matrix," Macro said as he took them.

It always irked him how he couldn't wear them with those horrible masks. They weren't even a necessity, he just liked wearing them, much like he did his scarf. He yanked the black scarf from his neck and strutted over to the two seats at the front.

"What gets out muk and grimer stains?" he asked.

"Fire," replied Matrix.

Macro let out a frustrated sigh and tossed the scarf into the nearest trash can. The stench of muk wafted up from it and he realised bitterly that he'd have to toss the contents of the bin into the septic tank. He hoisted it into his arms and wobbled towards the corridor.

"You may as well shower while you're at it," said Anchor.

Macro craned his neck around to leer at him, but the granbull was sat in the cockpit with his back to him. He hoped he'd caught his leer in the window's reflection.

"We'll be breaking the atmosphere soon," Anchor went on. "So brace yourself. Don't slip or anything."

Macro muttered under his breath and lugged the massive trash can all the way to the wash room. It felt like a trek but it was situated almost opposite the kitchen and dining room. Unfortunately it wasn't the best place to have a septic tank. He held his breath as he opened it up and lobbed the entire trash can inside before slamming it shut and activating the air purifier.

Another quick examine of his fur told him he did indeed need a shower. His thick, yellow coat was likely holding half of Proxy City's putrid air not to mention muk slime and whatever else he'd picked up from the streets.

He removed his goggles and utility belt, setting them safely on the side and double checking his twin laser guns were set to safety. There was no sense in risking a hole torn through the side of his prized ship. He stepped into the shower and the water cascaded down on top of him, making him wonder once again why on earth he'd chosen it to be lavender scented.

...

One shower and fresh scarf later, Macro strode back into the cockpit. Anchor instantly stood up and moved past him, momentarily considering giving the mawile a friendly pat on the shoulder and reconsidering it. The stink of city air wafted from his pink fur as he made his way towards the wash room. Macro flopped into the seat beside the driver's chair and kicked his feet up onto the dashboard.

"What's our next target?" he asked Matrix.

The ribombee glanced up at him and cleared the radar screen to bring up a string of 'job requests' - most of them simply targets for looting. Macro felt a flood of relief that the next job wouldn't be another trek into the filthy outskirts of Meta City.

"Machine shop raid," Matrix read out. "Ice types want laser gun components and the government have shut down their factories."

"It was only a matter of time," said Macro. "The ice type has many weaknesses and Socket just wants to keep that fear inside us all."

"Well, they're probably not gonna be too happy with you striding in there to offer them the parts," said Matrix. "You're a steel type. They might see you as a threat. You'll be blasted with fire and ground lasers before you can even blink."

"For the price I'm gonna charge 'em, it's a risk I'm willing to take." Matrix nodded towards the computer. "Tell 'em Wildcard's on it and we'll raid the nearest machine shop." He hesitated and squinted at the tiny text near impossible to read from his seat. "What city are they in?"

"Boolean."

"Good. One of them flyin' ones. That means it's got clean air."

"The machine shop we're targeting is on System Ground, however."

Macro's heart sank so quickly he lost his appetite. His head dropped into his paws and he let out a long groan.

"Don't worry, though," said Matrix. "It's in Wave City. Much less toxic so you can wear your goggles."

"Fantastic. Program it in and let's go and get some lunch."

Matrix's small paws flew over the holographic screen, and he buzzed out of his seat just in time for the supper bell to ring. Cookie's jovial voice called to them from the kitchen, ringing out louder than the bell. The chubby slurpuff waved a chocolate-coated ladle at them and bobbed back through the kitchen door.

The low table was heaped with berry pancakes, smoothies and various toppings including chocolate drizzle. Macro hopped into a chair and piled up his plate, being sure to go extra heavy on the chocolate.

"Ah, my nose is twitching." Anchor strode into the kitchen wearing a massive grin as he toweled off his mohawk.

He fell into a seat opposite the mawile and reached for the plate of pancakes.

"Just what I need after a hard day," he said. He looked over at Cookie. "You got any jaboca berries to go with it?"

Cookie's nose crinkled in a frown. "You're kidding, right?"

Anchor shrugged and reached for the bottle of nomel juice.

"How long until we reach Wave City?" Macro asked Matrix.

Anchor looked up with a start and licked nomel off his claws.

"About six hours," said Matrix. "Much less if we speed up but I imagine you'll want a rest and to wait until the early hours of the morning?"

Macro nodded. "Definitely."

"What's goin' on?" Anchor asked.

"We're raiding machine parts," Macro explained. "Ice types had their laser factory shut by Socket's reign of tyranny."

"Another one?" Anchor tutted and cut into his pancakes. "Poor lot. What'd she go and do that for?"

"Same reason as all the other times. Fear factor," Macro said bluntly.

"They'll be wiped out at this rate. Things are bad enough out there with this flippin' divide as it is. World's already a war zone. It's like she just wants to make things worse."

"Well, we'd best be prepared then," said Macro. "I doubt it'll be an easy job either. Busy bodies everywhere. You're gonna need to use your fists."

Anchor grunted and stuffed a fork of pancakes into his mouth. "I'll be sure to pack 'em then."