The crescent moon's rise signaled a shift in activity among the residents of Pokémon Square. Shopkeepers and homeowners slept the night away, blissfully ignorant of the world around them.

There was another matter at hand, however: a handful of pokémon snuck through the streets, committing more dubious acts. This was the life of many 'mon throughout the region of Valosse; thievery, smuggling, and - though rare - murder happened out of necessity for the large majority of the poor.

It was at this time that a small totodile quietly approached a particular house along the outskirts of town. His navy blue mobile scarf, a family heirloom, wrapped over his head like a hood, accompanied by a plain bandana of similar color obstructing his mouth.

Lockjaw felt himself shaking under his bag a tiny bit. This was his first night attempting to steal food for his family, and he knew he had to play it safe. This cannot go wrong. Just get a few apples if I can and stuff 'em in my bag.

With a hesitant nod, he clutched his mobile scarf, its power allowing him to phase through the wall. He poked his snout through the other side, analyzing the interior of the house.

A fireplace dimly glowed, highlighting a straw bed nearby. He could make out an orange body resting on it. From another angle, he saw the burning end of its tail, sparking a brief twinge of fear. Eventually, he spotted a bowl of huge, bright red apples a fair distance away.

Lockjaw took himself out of the wall, loosening his grip on the scarf. Okay, it looks like I won't need to go around the charizard for them. I shouldn't take the whole bowl, but given the size of those apples, I probably won't need more than three.

Starting his plan of action, the totodile tiptoed into the house, careful not to bump into anything. He reached for two of the apples, realizing that there were more than he thought once he glanced back. Hesitantly, he shot a look at the slumbering charizard, who seemingly remained undisturbed.

Confidence growing, Lockjaw grabbed two more of the fruits and placed them within his bag. That was pretty easy. Now all four of us can have a whole apple!

A small portion of anxiety remained, though. But how come this guy has so many of them? He doesn't seem that well-off…

As he tried exiting with his mobile scarf, however, he merely bumped into the wall instead, a faint magenta light briefly appearing where he had made contact. The totodile, bewildered, tried again for the same result. Wait, is this a psychic barrier? Then that means…

He heard a door open, and he mentally slapped himself. Great. I trapped myself in a house with a psychic. Scratch that, the psychic!

"Dammit, Char…" a voice rang. "Snacking on apples again. If there's one thing I don't know, it's why I trust him with our food supply."

Lockjaw noticed a half-opened window. His hope reignited. Okay, gotta make this fast.

With a great leap, he hurdled over the edge of the window, though not without making a small clattering noise. Undeterred, the totodile rushed into the forest.

The pokémon who had entered the house glanced out the window. Sighing, he clamped the glass shut, a faint smirk growing under his yellow whiskers. "Why, that must've been little Lockjaw. Such a shame…"

"Well, this just fantastic."

Waking up in the middle of the night was one thing, but waking up in the body of a pokémon soured his mood immensely. "At least I'm a cyndaquil. Typhlosion is badass."

He stretched his body, feeling some bones pop. Yeesh. Sometimes I wonder if I'd prefer lucid dreams over none at all. Do I at least have ember to keep myself entertained?

Rocard spent a good few minutes trying to make flames sprout from his back or spew fire from his mouth, though the efforts were fruitless. That would be a resounding no. Gah, a fire-type without fire sucks… But, if I remember correctly, a cyndaquil learns ember early, right? ...No wait, they're the last ones to learn it. Shit. I'll just need to cope with it, I guess.

After sitting and essentially being unproductive, he figured that he wasn't being particularly helpful to anyone. The cyndaquil began walking aimlessly, deep in thought. Okay, Orre doesn't have forests this clean… Maybe Agate would, but not to this extent. Then again, I've never been to Agate.

With a sigh, Rocard stopped at the base of a tree. He felt a slight breeze brush his fur. Dammit. This is either the best fever dream, or I really did turn into a cyndaquil.

A bush rustled nearby, and once he turned around, a flaaffy with dusty wool came staggering toward him. "Now what're you doin' out here by your lonesome?" it inquired with a raspy voice. "I'd be glad to give you a few meds to help you sleep."

Rocard shook his head in slight surprise. "Manaphy's mammaries, and I thought the drug commercials were corny."

He started backpedalling a fair bit, eyeing his newfound adversary.

"The hell you talkin' about, shorty?" the dirty sheep-like pokémon called, approaching the cyndaquil.

Because of the increasing length, Rocard cupped his hands around his mouth. "Y'know, 'Meth: not even once'? 'What it feels to chew five gum'? And what's with your voice? Come on, dude, you know you're only supposed to smoke one cig at a time, right?"

He didn't bother to listen to the now-enraged flaaffy, partly due to concentrating his efforts in running as fast as he could with his stubby legs. Before long, the cyndaquil could hardly hear his aggressor's shots of electricity, but he had already slowed to a crawl. Hah… I really should work out more… At least this will give me time to hide from him.

Glancing around the immediate area, he found a hole in a particular tree, just large enough for him to squeeze through it. Perfect.

Rocard jumped up a portion of the trunk, gripping the rim of the hole with a paw. Grunting, he pulled himself up, ignoring the soreness of his arm. His lower body became stuck in the entrance, prompting him to push his arms against the rim.

Then, with a slight pop, he made it fully inside the tree. Ow… This body will be sore and cramped by tomorrow - if this isn't a dream, that is. Better than being electrocuted and possibly drugged, at least.

He heard a crackling noise, followed by angry curse words. Come to think of it, why am I suddenly able to understand other pokémon? Surely, I'd still have to study for years. Maybe I am still dreaming after a-

His thoughts were soon interrupted by something grabbing him and bringing him to a lower section of the trunk.

Bewildered by the sudden force, Rocard glanced around, only finding himself surrounded with the pitch black color of darkness. "Okay, what-"

"Shush! I don't know how you found this retreat, but I am not going to let you leave so easily and let ACT know where this is!" a new, harshly quiet voice cut him off, a light scratch hitting his arm.

The cyndaquil tried to push the someone away, but the tight space prevented him from doing much. "Look, I have no idea what you're talking about-"

With a snarl, the voice pushed back. "That is the most lame and lazy excuse you could say! Do you have-"

"No, you've interrupted me twice, I get to interrupt you and explain my side of the story! There's a-"

"That's not how it-"

"Three times now. Shut up."

Rocard heard the voice groan and lean back. Satisfied, he tilted back as well. "Okay, then. I was trying to escape a flaaffy that wanted to reenact a 'drugs are bad' infomercial, and I found a hole in this tree. Had you not pulled me down, I would've waited until he left and continue along my merry way.

"But nooo, Mister McEdge brings me into this small nook and threatens to claw my organs out - how'd you pull me here, anyway? - and, great job, dummy, you revealed a secret lair to a nobody that you could've easily left alone. Gods, what did I do to deserve this mess?"

The other pokémon's growling faded, apparently realizing his mistake. "Rgh… You bring up a valid point there. And, admittedly, this is my first night on the job. Ugh, I'm never going to hear the end of Dad's ranting…"

Rocard raised an eyebrow, despite the darkness. It smelled like salt water, which didn't ease him in the slightest. "What's this 'job' you speak of, murder?"

He heard a faint thunk, followed by a pained noise from someone. The guy in front of him panicked, saying, "No! Not murder, thank Arc. It's thievery, like most of the region - out of necessity, not as a hobby."

The cyndaquil sighed, taking note of a faint call. "Sure, whatever you say. Who was that out there, anyway?"

Perking up, he listened intently for any additional sounds. Eventually, a feminine voice could be heard. "Caterpie? Momma can't find you! Please, Caterpie, come back!"

Rocard tensed. He prodded the pokémon next to him. "Hey, whatever you did with pulling me down here, could you do it again? I'm gonna help the lady."

The someone made a stammering noise. "But how do you know it isn't a lure to get caught?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, all I can tell is that a mother is desperately looking for her son or daughter, so we better go now before she goes out of earshot," the cyndaquil countered with a glare.

"Mmph… Alright."

Rocard felt a pull on his snout dragging him out into the moonlight. He looked around, searching for the pokémon who made the plea, and he eventually noticed flapping wings. Nodding, he approached the figure.

Said figure turned around, revealing herself to be a butterfree. "Oh no, bandits! I don't have anything for you!"

Stopping, Rocard waved his arms frantically. "No, stop! I came to help you look for - er, Caterpie, right? Where do you think he or she went?"

The butterfree visibly calmed down, hovering a bit closer to the ground. "As much as I appreciate the help, I don't know where he could've run off to. I've thoroughly checked the village, and I just started my search here. Caterpie couldn't have run further than Tiny Woods - a little further that way - but if he made it there…"

Rocard nodded. "Understood. In fact, I'll go on ahead to Tiny Woods and start searching there."

Before he could leave, however, the butterfree added, "Be careful, though. Tiny Woods hasn't been acting right lately, and a fissure has made the residents antsy. I've been there only once recently, but the sunkern are ferocious! Just… try to be cautious."

The cyndaquil bowed, hiding a smirk at the thought of rabid sunkern. "Got it. Hopefully your son will be safe."

He then ran in the direction Butterfree had suggested, forgetting about who had helped him out of the tree.

Lockjaw sneered at the fire-type. That cyndaquil… he's crazier than a gabite protecting its gems. Luckily for him, I have better things to do.

The totodile wrapped the mobile scarf over his head once more, preparing to head towards his home. However, as he did so, powder enveloped him, making his joints stiff and unusable.

He turned as best he could with his limited motion, setting his eyes on the now-angry butterfree. "Y-Yes?"

Butterfree glared at him, interrogating, "Don't think I didn't see you follow behind that cyndaquil. If you're not helping him find my son, there's nothing stopping me from turning in a thief like you. Do I make myself clear?"

Nodding with a terrified expression, Lockjaw replicated a thumbs-up. "Yes, m-ma'am. I-I'll help him out."

"Good," she stated, her eyes gaining a magenta tint. "Now, join him."

The next thing he knew, Lockjaw was launched in the cyndaquil's direction.

Rocard sighed, picking a lonely stick off the dirt. He inspected the wood out of boredom, finding relief in knowing it could be used as a weapon if necessary. Unless I can use some sort of worthwhile attack, this might just be my best defense.

Out of the blue, something heavy rammed into his backside, flinging the branch out of his grasp as he hit the ground.

The fire-type pushed himself up with a pained grunt, turning around. "What's the big ide-"

He stopped upon seeing a totodile cradling its snout with the scarf around its neck. The stench of salt water came rushing back to him.

"So you were the guy that pulled me through that tree!" Rocard exclaimed, scrunching up his nostrils. "If you wanted to hit on me, you could've at least had the decency to not do it literally."

Scowling, the totodile slid a digit down his face. "Ugh, leave that to your dreams. I didn't know the butterfree had psychic."

Rocard took a closer look at the scarf, touching it before pulling away from the snap of the water-type's jaws. He scoffed, stating, "Doesn't feel like the kind of cloth of a choice scarf… but I at least know seemingly ordinary trinkets have some use to them - unless things are different around here."

The totodile glared at him. "You're not having it."

"I suggested nothing of the sort," Rocard retorted, picking up his newfound stick. "If we're gonna find this caterpie, we'll need to work together. To do that, I can't simply call you Totodile."

"Well, you're gonna have to," the water-type proclaimed, "and I don't trust you enough with my actual name."

Rocard hummed, walking down the path. "Okay then, Dile Turner. Nice to meet you, I'm Rocard, now let's look for Caterpie."

'Dile Turner's' jaw hung open. Instead of forming a comeback, he ran to catch up with the cyndaquil.

Looking down the beginnings of the crevice, Rocard clutched his stick tighter. Yikes. No wonder that butterfree was worried.

He jumped over the occasional fallen tree, glancing underneath for any sign of the bug-type. "Hello? Caterpie, you there?"

Dile kicked the bark, chipping a piece off it and receiving a glare from the cyndaquil. "Why not just burn it?"

"Wha-Because I don't wanna burn it and later discover Caterpie among the ashes!" Rocard countered.

He heard the totodile mutter something, but he couldn't determine what it was. Deciding to let it slide, he walked down a narrow path. Rocard took note of a large seed in the next room before continuing onward.

As the cyndaquil headed toward another hall, however, a few sparks flew from the edge of his vision. Dile slammed into the wall next to him, letting out a groan. Rocard whipped around, spotting the flaaffy from earlier.

"Think you're hot shit, makin' a damn fool outta me," the electric-type seethed. "You're going down, you flame-shitter!"

"Well, then," Rocard scoffed, readying his weapon. "You want a piece of me? Come and get it while it's hot!"

With a bold war cry, the flaaffy charged at him, wildly swinging a thunderpunch. Rocard rolled out of reach before headbutting the electric-type. Much to his dismay, the opponent barely flinched, producing a static shock.

He fell to the ground, paralysis coursing through him. Damn! Looks like I can't use any normal-type moves either. Now what?

It took more effort than he had hoped to roll away from the flaaffy's kicks. Rocard noticed the seed was just within arm's reach. He pulled it toward him, but his opponent kicked him in the rear before he could properly grasp it.

The moment he stopped skidding across the ground, Rocard regained feeling in his arms. He grabbed the seed and tossed it in the electric-type's direction, hoping for the best. Sparks lit up the room, and...

A large burst of static resounded behind him. When the cyndaquil realized he hadn't been hit, he turned around. "What the hell…?"

The flaaffy trembled in place, stuck raising his fist. All the static lacing his body gained an orange tint. As much as Rocard was tempted to poke the electric-type, he instead picked up his stick and leaned on it. "C'mon, Dile Turner. Butterfree shouldn't wait longer than she has to."

Dile pushed himself up a bit too quickly, clutching his head from the resulting rush of blood. "Ugh… What the hell were you thinking there? A basic attack on someone who's clearly stronger than you?"

"So why didn't you pitch in a move, then?" Rocard retorted. "Whatever. Let's just continue looking for Caterpie."

"Because I'm weak to electricity, of course!" Dile spouted, teeth bare.

The cyndaquil deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "Typing isn't everything. We could've had the numbers' advantage, a different array of attacks, and more options. You not joining the fight, as we saw, denied all that. I had to clutch out of the fight because of my limited options.

"Now are we rescuing Caterpie or not?" he demanded, waltzing down the path.

Dile opened his mouth to respond, but he promptly shut it.

"M-Mommy… Where a-are you, Mommy?"

Caterpie sniffled, trembling between a crack in the ground and subsequently feeling a few pieces of dirt pelt his skin. Wincing from the chunks, he let out another sob.

"I-I'm scared, M-Mommy…" he whimpered, shutting his eyes tighter.

Then, he heard a faint voice, accompanied by footsteps. The bug-type panicked, squirming in the crevice in an attempt to escape. Abruptly, a large stick wedged itself directly in front of him, scaring him into backing off.

"Grab on!" the new voice ordered from above. "We'll get you to your mother!"

Caterpie all but squealed, latching onto the stick with hardly a second thought. The stick rose out of the fissure, revealing the owner of the voice to be a cyndaquil. He paled. D-Didn't Mommy say not to trust fire-types?

The cyndaquil smiled, placing the stick onto smooth soil. "There we go. C'mon, your mother's waiting-she is a butterfree, right?"

Caterpie didn't move an inch off the stick. "M-Mommy said not to trust fire-types."

Smile fading, the cyndaquil glanced away. "That's… understandable. You're vulnerable to fire moves, after all… How about you talk with someone who… erm, 'helped' me out with finding you?"

The bug-type turned his gaze towards a sulking totodile. He beamed at the realization of who it was. "Oh, Lockjaw! Hi! Did you come looking for me?"

Lockjaw sent a flustered scowl to Caterpie. "I-Yes… Yes, I did. Let's go find Butterfree."

Scooping an arm to pick up the little caterpie, Lockjaw glared at Rocard. Don't even think about it, he nearly seethed.

Rocard shrugged with a sigh, though he said nothing.

Giving the outskirts of the town one last lookover, Butterfree exhaled. She sagged, loosening her grip on the metapod in her arms. "Sorry, May," she whispered. "Larry isn't here. I appreciate your willingness to help, but…"

"But my form doesn't allow much movement," May droned, looking back up at the butterfree. "I'm sorry I'm being a burden, Auntie Rey."

"No, don't be!" Rey denied with a hint of desperation. "A second set of eyes helps tremendously. It just happens to be that Larry… isn't here…"

The butterfree fought back the welling tears. She gazed into the moonlit sky, then back to her niece. May was staring into a thicker part of the woods, eyes alert.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Rey prodded.

Leaning further into her caretaker's arms, May mumbled, "They're here."

Bushes in one part of the forest rustled, parting in the wake of a cyndaquil and totodile. Larry rested on top of the totodile's head, looking at his mother.

"Mommy!" the little caterpie exclaimed, hopping off and darting to the butterfree. "Mommy! I missed you!"

Lowering herself to the ground, Rey gently picked up her son and snuggled him. "Oh, Larry…"

She glanced at the pokémon that helped her, smile weak. "I should thank both of you dearly… Unfortunately, I don't have much to offer. All I have on me is a bit of cash and some berries."

The cyndaquil smiled back, shaking his head. "Keep them. Your son's safety is what matters here."

"I insist!" she stated, fishing for some berries. "Without your immediate help, he would've had a higher risk of dungeon sickness!"

Hesitating, the fire-type relented with a confused expression, letting Rey hand him the reward.

"Now, may I know your names?" she suggested. "In case we meet again, that is. Call me Rey."

"Rocard," the cyndaquil said. "And this guy-"

"I can speak for myself," the totodile quipped with a frown. "It's Lockjaw."

Rey nodded. "A pleasure meeting you both…" she eyed Lockjaw with a twinge of annoyance. "...Hopefully the next time we see each other isn't during a crisis. Have a good night!"

As the butterfree fluttered off with May and Larry in tow, Rocard turned to Lockjaw. "So, that was nice, wasn't it? Too bad you didn't do much more than watch."

"Leave me outta this," the water-type scoffed. "I'm going home. Don't follow me there. Got it?"

"Alright, alright, sheesh."

Rocard watched the totodile storm off. He sighed, putting on a fake smile and wandering in the direction of the caterpie's family. Well… Now what? By the looks of it, humans are either scarce or nonexistent. So why am I here? I can't be that important, can I?

He shook his head, figuring his questions wouldn't be answered immediately. Might just be best not to talk about humans for the time being.

With that conclusion reached, Rocard continued down the worn dirt path.