So, remember how I was the chef for an amateur film crew? This is the short film my pizza muffins fueled.
(N.B. The first half minute is our team’s introduction clip; the actual film starts something like 35 seconds in)
So, remember how I was the chef for an amateur film crew? This is the short film my pizza muffins fueled.
(N.B. The first half minute is our team’s introduction clip; the actual film starts something like 35 seconds in)
That… sounds really hard, but I guess it might be worth it. Who the hell would I put on there? And would I be considering design only, or mechanical strength as well? Hmm…
Jim and I warp into a spacious office at the prow of the Team Plasma frigate, sparsely but tastefully furnished, and lined with monitors displaying live security feeds from around the ship. The office’s sole occupant, a tall green-haired man in long, dark grey robes, has his back to us, his eyes fixed on one of the monitors. Colress is visible going about his business on the security feed. As if conscious of his observers, he glances up at the security camera and waves cheerily before returning to his consoles. Ghetsis – for it is he – quietly curses Colress for his obsessive devotion to the principles of science, before turning around to greet us.
Whatever else may be said about Ghetsis, you have to admit that his is a look which few men could pull off. Whether Ghetsis himself manages to pull it off is perhaps open for debate, but his confidence is still admirable. His wardrobe has undergone a marked shift from his time as active leader of Team Plasma. Gone are the voluminous bright blue-and-gold robes with their curious battlement-patterned collar. His new robes are far more sombre, though they retain the eye motif of his older clothing, and his green hair and red glass monocle are unchanged. He seems older, somehow, and thinner, almost gaunt, and now walks with a cane – though I note, warily, that its handle seems modelled after the hilt of a sword. Ghetsis once fooled all of Unova into believing he was a kindly old philosopher who just wanted to help Pokémon – feigning frailty to conceal a deadly weapon would hardly tax his powers of deception. He doesn’t appear to have any plans to murder us today, though. In fact, he has in mind something far worse – a private performance of one of his villainous monologues. Ghetsis explains to us Kyurem’s true nature – it is a being of emptiness, which, by extension, makes it also a being of limitless potential, much as I had theorised long ago. It can act as a vessel for… well, pretty much anything, it would seem – including Ghetsis’ all-consuming ambition. I politely raise a hand to ask a question about the underlying metaphysics of Ghetsis’ plans for world domination (I am particularly interested to ask how he knows that Kyurem will not simply drain his vital essence, leave him a withered husk, and then go on to conquer Unova itself) but he refuses to be interrupted, until a member of the Shadow Triad arrives to inform him that Kyurem has been moved off the ship. Ghetsis leaves, proclaiming his triumph and ordering the Shadow Triad to deal with us, at which point Hugh arrives via the warp panel.
Entirely unfazed by the gravity of the situation he has just missed, Hugh demands to know where his sister’s Purrloin is. Only mildly taken aback by this question, the ninja releases a Liepard, explaining that, although this is probably the Pokémon Hugh means, it will only obey his commands now, for “such is the fate of Pokémon that are trapped in Pokéballs.” Hugh cries out that this must be someone else’s Pokémon. Good grief, Hugh, this is not a moment to go into denial; Rood told us that the Shadow Triad probably had your sister’s Pokémon, and it’s not like they’d be carrying around a spare Liepard, just in case they wanted to mess with the vengeful brother of a trainer they stole a Purrloin from. That’s… kind of a low percentage contingency there. While Hugh stares, dumbstruck, the ninja muses that, if Ghetsis had been victorious two years ago and ‘Pokémon liberation’ had become a reality, even if only for the sake of Ghetsis’ ambition, Liepard might have returned to its original trainer in its own time. Before I have time to dwell on what he seems to be saying, the rest of the Shadow Triad arrives. Hugh is so preoccupied by Liepard’s apparent hostility towards him that he’s unable to do anything useful, so Jim and I battle the three ninjas ourselves. Once dealt with, they vanish, as usual, but leave Liepard behind as a parting gift (possibly a deliberate stratagem on their part, since it keeps Hugh transfixed and unable to contribute anything whatsoever). I admit to spacing out for a moment myself, watching them. The Shadow Triad certainly seem to believe that Pokéballs really do enslave and control Pokémon – but is that just Ghetsis’ rhetoric talking? They weren’t deceived by him the way the others were; they seem to have known all along that world domination was his intention, but could their minds still have been clouded by his rather adversarial view of the relationship between humans and Pokémon? Jim interrupts my reverie with a snap of his fingers. We still have a war to win.
Leaving the ship, we follow Ghetsis to the glacial cave at the very back of the giant chasm. The place is eerily silent – no Kyurem in sight. Ghetsis is standing, alone, in the back of the cavern. This crater, he explains, the place where Kyurem fell from the sky, is where its power is strongest, strong enough to freeze the entire region. He bangs his cane on the cave floor and calls Kyurem’s name, prompting the legendary Pokémon to appear from nowhere in a gust of blinding white wind, then orders Kyurem to Glaciate me and Jim. Wait, what? Has someone changed the rules of Pokémon battles on us? Are we now allowed to attack other trainers directly? When did this happen!? I stammer out an indignant challenge, declaring that Ghetsis is violating section A23, clauses 1 through 6, of the Unova League Manual of Training Etiquette, which very clearly lists all of the Pokémon attacks it is permissible to order upon an unwilling human target. Jim tries to summon his Magmar, Falk (perhaps a somewhat more practical course of action under the circumstances, admittedly), but our bodies are already unresponsive from the cold. I make a mental note to strike first if I ever find myself in a similar situation in my next life, preferably using something big and scary with horns.
“Reshiram, Fusion Flare!”
A brilliant red pulse of energy sweeps away Kyurem’s glacial chill as the white dragon Reshiram lands before us. The long-lost hero of Unova, N, leaps from her back to confront Ghetsis.
“Took you long enough,” I mutter quietly.
N declares that he and Reshiram won’t allow the Pokémon of Unova to suffer at Ghetsis’ hands. Reshiram, last I checked, is more powerful than Kyurem – significantly so – but Ghetsis’ confidence seems undiminished. In fact, he claims that he wanted N and Reshiram here; it was all part of his plan. With a flourish, he produces from his robes the devices that will supposedly bring him victory: the DNA Splicers. These pyramidal spikes apparently slot into the strange glassy protrusions on Kyurem’s frozen wings. I watch, unimpressed, as they float into their positions. Now what? N does not seem particularly overwhelmed either, and orders Reshiram to enter battle. Kyurem responds by firing a barrage of purple lasers at her. Wait, “DNA Splicers” actually means “Laser Cannons”? Why did no one tell me this before? If I’d known they did something useful I would have stolen the damn things myself! This, Jim observes drily, is probably exactly why no-one told me this before. Reshiram evades the lasers for a short time, but soon takes a direct hit. The lasers appear to drain her energy somehow, reducing her to the helpless passive form of the Light Stone.
…well, $#!t.
Ghetsis commands Kyurem to absorb the Light Stone with… Absofusion? Absofusion, that’s the name we’re going with? Okay, whatever; get on with it. Kyurem consumes the stone and, with much pomp and flair, transforms itself into a terrifying hybrid creature, its own body parts seamlessly mixed with Reshiram’s, that radiates power like a frozen star. Ghetsis laughs his most villainous laugh as N looks on in horror at the abomination that was once his partner Pokémon. I glance over at Jim as I brace myself for Glaciating death. “Eh. We had a good run, right?” I ask. He shrugs and says something insulting about my mother. I quietly remind him that, in the context of this playthrough journal, we are supposed to be brother and sister. He shrugs again and reaffirms the sentiment. Realising that we aren’t dead yet, we look back to Ghetsis. He brags that his cane emits a special disruptor signal that will jam our Pokéballs, making it impossible to catch Kyurem. Catch it? Why would we be trying to-? Wait. Oh, so now he wants to battle? Now he wants to fight fair? Oh, whatever. I step forward, cautiously, unclipping Jaime’s Pokéball from my belt and releasing the Samurott into the battlefield. Surely Kyurem will be my toughest opponent yet; an ancient, legendary Pokémon with the power to freeze all of Unova, its formerly empty body overflowing with the pure essence of Truth itself, mingled with Ghetsis’ own boundless will to conquer.
Jaime marches forward, grits his teeth, takes a couple of Kyurem’s energy bursts, and smashes its face into the ground with a fierce Revenge attack. Kyurem twitches a few times, then lies still. With a sudden flash of blinding white light, Reshiram reappears, leaving Kyurem reduced to its original, empty form. Everyone present stares, dumbstruck, as Kyurem makes a regretful croaking noise and slowly drags itself away to the back of the cavern.
Well. That was anticlimactic.
Legendary Pokémon are, as a rule. The fact is, even the most overpowered nonsense of a Pokémon can only do so much when plonked into a 6-on-1 situation and told to make the best of it, which is what battles with legendary Pokémon almost invariably involve. Give that same Pokémon its default moveset, featuring the sheer impracticality that is Ice Burn, and you’ve got something that can, quite realistically, be taken down by a single Pokémon of your own without undue trouble (it doesn’t help that Ghetsis has, ironically, denied Kyurem the possibility of enjoying free turns while you uselessly stand there throwing Ultra Balls at it – for most legendary Pokémon, the best chance they have to hurt you). Black and White fixed this problem rather ingeniously by making Reshiram/Zekrom an active part of the showdown with N, inviting you to face one of the dragons with the strength of a proper Pokémon team to back it up, while the other joins as your partner. The impact of the battle on the player is strengthened, and the actual challenge of it is assimilated to the challenge of the battle with N. Black 2 and White 2 have no such recourse, leaving us with the inescapable impression that Kyurem is simply not the world-ending threat Ghetsis thinks it is (bear in mind that this is Ghetsis’ endgame; just reaching this point was essentially the final critical step in his plan to conquer all of Unova) – an unfortunate weakness in their climax when compared with that of their predecessors.
As I explain all of this, N and Jim nodding thoughtfully at all the right moments, Ghetsis himself is rapidly losing his cool. As I pause for breath, preparing to launch into a discussion of the place of legendary Pokémon in the background of the game world, he gives a strangled screech and bangs his cane on the ground. Geez; with all the monologues he gives, you’d think he’d have the common decency to sit quietly through someone else’s. Alas, Ghetsis would rather throw a tantrum. It’s not over, he declares; he’ll just have to recapture Kyurem and try again – after he’s dealt with us. I point out, as gently as I can, that if Kyurem didn’t work the first time, there’s no reason to think it’d work the second, which just prompts Ghetsis to scream and release his opening Pokémon, a Cofagrigus. I offer to let Jim handle this one, but he gracefully declines and allows me to have the honour.
Ghetsis… well, I’m not going to lie; he’s really let himself go. Most of the changes to his team since the last time we saw him are of fairly little consequence. Gone are Bouffalant and Bisharp, with Drapion and Toxicroak appearing in their places, but this is really just a physical attacker for a physical attacker and a physical tank for a physical tank. Cofagrigus, Seismitoad and Eelektross seem to be more or less unchanged. The great loss is his Hydreigon. It’s still on his team, sure, but a shadow of its former self: Ghetsis’ Hydreigon was once an unholy terror that abused its monstrous special attack stat to the fullest possible extent with a spread of terrifying energy-based moves, but now it’s been saddled with some weird-ass physical attacker moveset and forced to rely on the 75% accurate Dragon Rush as its primary move. I feel like Ghetsis, of all people, shouldn’t need to be told that this is at best a very metagamey way to use a Hydreigon. He becomes more irrational with each of his Pokémon that falls, eventually dissolving into a self-aggrandising tantrum when his Hydreigon collapses. N attempts to calm Ghetsis down, addressing him (with obvious pain in his eyes) as ‘father,’ but Ghetsis just rants about how N is a freak, and not even a real person. As he slips further into incoherence, one of the Shadow Triad appears to retrieve Ghetsis. That was the last we ever saw of him.
All in all… as I said, the whole sequence has rather a feel of anticlimax about it. I have to admit, though, that there is something a little sad about Ghetsis’ eventual end. Most Pokémon villains get to go out with some dignity – Giovanni gracefully acknowledges your superiority and retires, Maxie and Archie come to understand how they went wrong and even get a nice little redemption scene on Mt. Pyre, and Cyrus vows revenge as he disappears into the distortion world. Ghetsis… Ghetsis collapses into self-destructive rage, to the point where his most loyal servants feel they need to restrain him for his own good. The shock to his psyche is clearly massive, and we’re left wondering whether he’ll ever fully recover. I don’t think I’d go so far as to call it ‘poignant’ or ‘tragic,’ but I can’t deny feeling a little sympathy for him. Overall, I think that the climax of the original Black and White was better done in a number of ways, but it’s very fitting that a game whose strength was the ambiguous nature of its antagonists should take the one truly irredeemable figure among them and give him such a pitiable fate.
Well. Time to move on with life, I guess.
So, update on the last entry – our team’s other script concept recovered and developed enough in time to be chosen over mine (the fools!) and the film is well on track to being finished by the 7pm Sunday deadline. We cannot actually make any video available, since the competition rules state that any team whose film is released in any form before the official screening (some time in the next two weeks) will be disqualified. I’ll give you a link when our director uploads the finished product later, though.
However, some of you have expressed an interest in my pizza muffin recipe, which is not restricted from public use at all, and which I will share with you now. I have never actually tasted these, since one of my dietary peculiarities is that I don’t like cheese (not lactose intolerant or anything, I’m just not fond of the stuff) but I’ve had positive comments from everyone who’s ever tried them, so I must be doing something right.
Ingredients:
2 cups grated cheese (I use a commercial blend of mozzarella, cheddar and Parmesan marketed as being specially made for pizza)
2 cups plain white flour
3 tsp baking powder
1 tbs sugar
1 spring onion/leek, finely chopped
50g salami, finely chopped
½ tsp dried oregano
1 tbs tomato paste
3 tbs water
1 cup milk
1 egg
Method:
Mix cheese, flour, baking powder and sugar with a wooden spoon.
Add salami, spring onion and oregano and stir lightly.
In a separate bowl, mix tomato paste and water until smooth.
Beat in milk and egg.
Fold together the two mixtures.
Spoon into a greased muffin pan.
Bake for 12 minutes at 220 degrees C.
I often make it as a sort of loaf instead, in which case I line a loaf tin with baking paper and cook at 180 degrees C until the top is golden brown (I guess about 25-30 minutes, but use a skewer to make sure the inside is cooked before you take it out). Also, I imagine you could vary the ‘toppings’ considerably if you had a mind to, though I’ve never tried it.
I am currently being drowned in a flood of undergraduate Greek history essays, which is why I’m not rambling about Pokémon at the moment. Can I not take time out of marking my clueless students’ misshapen diatribes against history, you may ask? Is not my Pokémon blog more important than this?
Well, sort of. The trouble is that I’m already taking time out of marking essays so I can make pizza muffins at five o’clock in the morning.
This is because I am participating in a short film competition.
You understand now that I am not merely affecting insanity when I write about Pokémon on the internet. This is actually what my life is like.
Perhaps I should explain some of the context involved here.
Every year, myself and a group of friends, under the command of one of my high school friends who’s trying to make a name for himself as a director, participate in a skin-flayingly painful event euphemistically known as 48 Hours Furious Filmmaking. The premise is really quite simple: make a short film of 7 minutes or less, within 48 hours (beginning at 7pm last night). To ensure that everything really does happen within 48 hours, all teams in the country must use certain elements (a character, a prop, a line of dialogue, and a camera technique) revealed at the beginning of the competition, and each team is individually assigned one of ten film genres. This year, every film must feature an insomniac named Vic Mayor (the names are always appropriate for either a male or a female character – in this case, Vic could be short for either Victor or Victoria), a card (a playing card, a credit card, a birthday card, whatevs), the line “did you hear that?” and… some camera technique I’ve forgotten because I don’t know a thing about camera techniques anyway. My team has been assigned the “action adventure” genre.
None of this explains why I am making pizza muffins at five o’clock in the morning.
Although I normally do contribute something to the scriptwriting process, I have for some years now had a rather different role on our team. Every team needs food to survive, and I happen to be a damn fine baker. My pies and Cornish pasties have long been famous in our group, and every year on the Saturday of the competition I work hard all morning to bring our film crew a good solid lunch, then get back to the kitchen to start work on dinner. Now, ordinarily I would have prepared my pie fillings in advance of the competition, to keep my workload manageable, but this year I have not been able to do this, due to the aforementioned torrent of undergraduate essays. Thus, I stayed up all Friday night preparing them instead. I also, as is my custom, submitted an idea for a script. In nine years of competition I have never actually managed to write a script that has caught our director’s fancy. This year (again, as is customary) my idea was good, but another was chosen to be taken to the development and writing stage. I returned to my kitchen to get on with my real job.
However, at quarter to eleven, I received a rather panicked text message from the director, indicating that perhaps it might be useful to have a backup script.
By two o’clock, it had become clear that my backup script was, in fact, likely to be the primary script. I dutifully continued working.
By four o’clock, my work was complete. At this point, though, I reasoned that trying to sleep would just make me feel more tired and cranky when I had to get up again in a few short hours. So I decided it would be a better idea just to keep cooking, hence the pizza muffins. I believe my mind has become host to Dark Forces from Parts Unknown, which are now the source of all my power. To be perfectly honest, it’s really quite exhilarating. I now intend to enslave these Dark Forces and retain them for further use at a later date. For now, though, I suspect they will abandon me if I go to sleep, so I will continue to produce delicious baked goods for my team.
Anyway, I have to go. My first batch of muffins is ready.
…huh.
You know, I didn’t specifically have Lord English in mind when I wrote that, but I suppose, now that you mention it, that there are some marked similarities in concept. They are also both green.
(Sorry about taking so long to get around to this; have been very busy lately)
Cherubi and Cherrim are… meh. You might recall my general distaste towards Sunflora for being a Grass Pokémon whose thing is that she likes sunlight – a characteristic shared by all Grass Pokémon – and this bugs me about Cherrim as well, but at least she can claim to have a unique mechanical and thematic quirk that shows her association with sunlight is stronger than it is for most other Grass-types. The design is not particularly inspired, but the choice of a cherry is admittedly a nice touch, since the shift from cherry fruit to cherry blossom allows for a dramatic change which still makes intuitive sense and is easy to comprehend (especially for a Japanese audience). I don’t think they really needed to be in the game, exactly, and it’s clear that they don’t have much of a battling niche outside of doubles, but… I guess I’m not that upset that they exist? Uh. So yeah.
We touch down outside the route 22 entrance to the cave network that leads into the Giant Chasm. Jim, Hugh and I sneak inside and prepare for a surprise attack on the two Team Plasma guards within, but are cut short when a third grunt approaches to tell them that they’re being relieved – it’s time for everyone to gather in the crater forest. The third grunt turns out to be our old friend, Rood’s spy. In recognition of the minor service he has performed for us, Hugh refrains from crushing him like a bug, and actually seems almost apologetic. I think he may have finally learned to distinguish between the two factions of Team Plasma; he even expresses a belief that justice for Rood’s group will never be possible as long as the loyalists’ actions continue to tarnish the name of Team Plasma. The agent thanks him for his understanding, and regretfully explains that he must leave us, as he still has more to do.
The cave network is twisted and confusing, but small, and we easily find our way into the Giant Chasm. As we step, blinking, back into the light and feel the still, frigid air on our faces, we see that Cheren was right about the frigate’s destination – the great ship has landed in the middle of the crater forest. Many Team Plasma members are already outside, apparently standing guard near the cave exit. To our surprise, Rood is there as well, standing opposite them with a couple of ex-Plasma grunts. Rood seems to be trying to explain to them that Ghetsis is evil and has no interest in liberating Pokémon at all. That’s… strange. I thought everyone already knew that. Some of the loyalists still believe that their real mission is to free Pokémon from human oppression? I know that many of them have given up the pretence completely; these guys are either lying or deluded. They refuse to believe anything Rood says, denouncing him as a traitor. Hugh calls on Rood and his attendants to fight, asking them why they even have Pokémon with them if not to protect the things they value. “Even if your precious Pokémon get hurt,” he exhorts them, “even if your ideals get damaged, the time to fight is NOW!” Wait- hang on, Hugh, aren’t their ideals the things that they’d be fighting to protect? And aren’t their ideals all about protecting Pokémon? And, for that matter, aren’t their Pokémon the ones they originally stole and are now trying to earn forgiveness from? And- oh, what the hell. At least he’s learned to exercise a little discrimination in his rage-unleashing; there’ll be plenty of time to get him started on philosophy later. His rallying cry seems to have worked, at any rate. Rood and his allies call out their Pokémon and prepare to fight, sending the three of us on ahead to invade the frigate once more while he keeps his former friends occupied. As we leave, he calls out to Hugh, telling him that the Purrloin he’s looking for is likely to be in the hands of the Shadow Triad. His commitment renewed, Hugh charges off towards the ship, Jim and I following cautiously behind.
The entrance to the ship is unguarded, and we quickly gain entrance. Jim and I almost immediately lose track of Hugh, who has begun another rage spree in his search for the Shadow Triad. We find a warp panel that takes us into the lower levels of the ship, and are immediately confronted by another force field, this one controlled by a series of switches protected by a warp panel maze. How the hell does anyone get anything done on this ship? More to the point, who’s designing this stuff? The Pokémon world’s security companies must be staffed entirely by ADHD schizophrenics. Jim and I split up, and manage to fight our way through the handful of Team Plasma guards remaining on the ship to flip the four switches. We meet up again at the deactivated force field and advance. Directly in front of us is the huge machine we saw from the balcony above the last time we were here – the ship’s heart, with Kyurem waiting inside. Zinzolin appears for one final gesture of futility. I convince him that there’s no point in fighting; he can’t beat either of us alone, so he’ll certainly never have a chance against both of us together. He gives us a strange piece of advice, “as long as you are dreaming, the dream will never reveal itself to you,” (either Zinzolin is still my superior in philosophy, or he’s spouting cryptic nonsense in order to confuse us – possibly both) and tells us that, although Kyurem’s prison is indestructible, we can go on to fight Team Plasma’s leader by taking the warp panel to our right. With a resigned shrug, we ready ourselves to take on Ghetsis. We remember the bastard from the original Black and White, and we aren’t about to be caught unawares. Satisfied that our Pokémon are in order, we step onto the panel and find ourselves in a spacious control room at the ship’s prow. Standing at the front, behind a desk packed with complicated-looking control panels, is-
Colress?
Ah hah! I knew it! Colress was really Ghetsis all along! I- wait, no, that makes no f#$%ing sense. Colress, why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here?
For Colress, all of this is, and has always been, about how Pokémon can become more powerful. N believed that humans suppressed the true strength of Pokémon, and that only separating the world into black and white could ever allow Pokémon to achieve perfection. N, of course, recanted his views after the events of Black and White, proving to Colress’ satisfaction that the way forward was for humans to bring out the true strength of Pokémon, but there was still a question to be answered: was this to be done through hard science or through emotion? When Colress’ old friend Ghetsis asked him to help orchestrate Team Plasma’s new operations in Unova, Colress decided to take advantage of the whole thing to set up an experiment. He designed all of Team Plasma’s new technology for Ghetsis, including the great flying frigate and its Nevermeltice cannon, along with a host of other devices, to try to bring out the power of Team Plasma’s Pokémon (particularly Kyurem). Unlike Zinzolin, he has no particular desire to see human civilisation destroyed, but would consider it a reasonable sacrifice, if that’s what it will take to see the ultimate strength of Pokémon realised at last. Meanwhile, he would encourage trainers like me and Jim to grow, work with our Pokémon, bring out their power through trust and love, and challenge Team Plasma. The Team Plasma loyalists who still worked for Ghetsis made the perfect control group, since they were, almost without exception, appalling trainers with only the barest shreds of empathy. We, it seems, have shown the potential of our approach at almost every turn. Like a good scientist should always be, Colress is as happy to be proven wrong as right. Our conflict with Team Plasma, he thinks, will decide the fate of the relationship between all Pokémon and humanity – Pokémon must always grow towards their true potential, whether the path is through Ghetsis’ cold technology or our empathy. He just has one final experiment to run: one last battle.
While Jim and his Pokémon team engage Colress’ powerful Steel-types in battle, I attempt to take on Colress himself in debate. I admit that I admire his dedication to the basic principles of science – his willingness to put his beliefs on the line and let his worldview be dictated only by hard evidence – but question how he can condone giving such power to a group like Team Plasma, effectively a terrorist organisation. How could his experiment be worth risking our entire civilisation? Colress replies that it was no risk at all. Ghetsis and N’s actions two years ago have revealed that both the justice and the utility of our relationship with all Pokémon are in question, and the nature of that relationship pervades every aspect of our society. If Team Plasma wins, if Pokémon truly can reach their potential more effectively through Ghetsis’ philosophies, then what authority is there left in civilisation? What can we trust is not holding us back? Better to take away everything, let our new relationship with Pokémon be decided from scratch, and to the victor go the spoils. But, I challenge him, how can a contest of brute force be allowed to have such authority? Colress chuckles at that. Surely I know better, he asks. Pokémon become more powerful as they grow, everyone knows that, but that’s hardly all there is to it. As a Pokémon’s physical strength waxes, so do its self-awareness, its understanding of its own powers, its ambition and ability to plan, even its personal charisma. This isn’t about Pokémon becoming better at battles – this, just as N always said, is about Pokémon becoming perfect beings. I concede his point on principle, but remind him that the relationships between all of these factors are still very poorly understood, in spite of recent advances in the field, and that any sweeping conclusions must remain highly contentious, especially in the case of species which do not exhibit Pokémon evolution. I suggest a complete survey of all relevant studies to date, with a thorough examination of the data and a critical review of all current methodological approaches. Colress agrees enthusiastically, and offers to mail me a copy of his research notes and a detailed bibliography. There’s totally a PhD thesis in this for me. At this point, we are interrupted by a deafening metallic clang as Colress’ Magnezone crashes to the floor. Colress claps his hands together excitedly. Jim’s Pokémon, again, have proven far more powerful than his. He congratulates us both on our strength and returns to his control panels. Tapping a few buttons, he casually explains that he is unlocking the warp panel that will lead us to Ghetsis’ office, then sends us off with a jaunty wave.
I am vaguely aware that a number of new Pokémon have been revealed, however I have no plans to say anything about them. This is about the point at which I normally begin to ignore everything about a new Pokémon game, in anticipation of approaching it with as close as I can get to a completely fresh eye. In short – if you ask me what I think about any X and Y news from this point, I will have nothing to say, and may not even know what you’re talking about.
With only a bare handful of grunts on deck, my Pokémon and I manage to force our way onto the Team Plasma frigate without much trouble. Jim and Hugh arrive just as my Ampharos is tossing the minions overboard. Together, the three of us march into the ship’s forecastle, our Pokémon swarming around us. Tragically, our dramatic entrance is stymied by a Team Plasma security device: a crackling blue force field.
Oh, okay, I remember how to handle these things; we have to find the ‘off’ switches in the rubbish bins, and- wait, there are no rubbish bins. Damnit; what kind of power-crazed madman designed this place!?
Inspection reveals that the force field is controlled by a keypad. We need to input the correct passphrase if we want to get inside and confront Team Plasma’s leaders. I momentarily regret ordering Sansa to throw the first batch of grunts off the ship without first torturing them for information. I instruct Hugh to guard the force field while Jim and I find someone to interrogate, but Hugh is having none of that. He still has rage to unleash today. He tears off towards the rear of the ship, looking for a way down below the deck. I follow him, glancing back at Jim with a helpless shrug. I catch up with Hugh as he barrels down the stairs only two steps behind his Emboar, who lands with a sickening crunch on top of an unfortunate Team Plasma grunt waiting at the bottom. Hugh is beginning some kind of rage-related threat when the grunt splutters a plea for mercy. He is, he claims, a spy for Rood’s splinter group, keeping watch on the movements of Ghetsis’ loyalists in order to help thwart their mischief. Huh. Way to go, Rood. I didn’t think espionage was really his style, but I guess it must have been easy enough, since the loyalists are still actively trying to recruit from his group. Unfortunately, Hugh and I very quickly learn that this spy has discovered absolutely nothing of any value. He knows that there is a force field protecting the ship’s command centre, and he knows that there is a password. He has no idea what that password is. Nor, when Hugh questions him, does he know anything about a stolen Purrloin. Hugh snorts derisively, muttering that he expected no better from a former member of Team Plasma, then tells Emboar to get off the poor guy and stalks off into the bowels of the ship. The spy apologises to me for not being helpful, but suggests that some of the real Team Plasma members might know something.
While the exterior of the Team Plasma frigate is quite imposing, and has a certain old-fashioned charm to it, the interior is really rather depressing. All the furnishings are in dull grey metal, and the grunts sleep in crowded dormitories and take their meals – bread and water, according to their cook – in a run-down mess hall. Frankly, the place reminds me of a prison. When I question one of the grunts about their living conditions, she remarks defensively that some of them have nowhere else to go. Well. That’s depressing. I suppose when the alternative is the revilement faced by Rood’s group, maybe this doesn’t seem so bad. I feel a momentary spasm of guilt at invading their home, and decide to take my mind off it by having Jaime the Samurott dangle one of them out a porthole. We quickly establish that none of them actually know the password, they just have a couple of letters or clues each. All this guy knows is that it begins with R. Well, surely, I point out as Jaime shakes him up and down, they must have compared notes once or twice. He protests, his voice slightly muffled as it comes in through the porthole, that the kind of people Ghetsis liked to recruit are not exactly experts in cooperative thinking. I shrug in assent, and dismiss him. Jaime drops the grunt into the sea, and we turn to the next fellow in line. He holds up his palms and explains quickly that he knows the password is the name of a Fire-type Pokémon, but nothing more. I am about to have Jaime stuff him through the porthole anyway, when my brain starts to tick. A Fire-type Pokémon whose name begins with R. That’s actually reasonably specific. Which Fire Pokémon have names that start with R? There’s Rapidash… Rotom when he’s in the form of a toaster, if you can even count him… and…
No… surely not… surely Zinzolin wouldn’t be so brazen?
I call Jim on my X-Transceiver and tell him to try entering “Reshiram” as the passphrase. It works.
Clearly Zinzolin never got the memo that your password should never be your name, your spouse, child or pet’s name, your date of birth, or the name of the ancient god who is the raison d’être of your entire organisation.
Jim marches through the deactivated force field with his Lucario, Dovahkiin, at his side. Behind the field is a tiny room containing a warp panel, presumably leading to somewhere else on the ship that can’t be directly accessed from the outside. They step onto the warp panel and, with a flash of light, find themselves standing on a balcony overlooking what appears to be the ship’s power core. Zinzolin is waiting for him. He applauds Jim for making it into the engine room, to which Jim modestly admits that all he did was keep watch while I found the password. Zinzolin shrugs, and notes that Jim is still clearly a very powerful trainer – and worthy of seeing the secret of Team Plasma’s newfound success. He gestures to the power core below, an enormous glass cylinder surrounded by an eerie blue glow that seems to feed the machines around it. Inside the cylinder, apparently passive and docile, is Kyurem, the legendary dragon of ice. This is the source of energy that powers their ship’s Nevermeltice cannon and, presumably, its other systems as well. It takes a while to recharge the cannon after a volley, but apparently the ship is almost ready. With Kyurem safe behind glass and all his ship’s systems powering up for battle, Zinzolin confidently challenges Jim, but the conclusion is forgone and hilarious. All of Zinzolin’s Ice Pokémon, of course, are cripplingly weak to Dovahkiin’s powerful Fighting attacks, and have no effective means of damaging a Steel-type anyway. Hugh, meanwhile, has arrived to deal with Zinzolin’s attendants. Once their battles have run their course, Hugh approaches Zinzolin and demands to know what’s happened to his sister’s Purrloin. Zinzolin frowns and gives Hugh a sceptical look. He has no idea where Purrloin is, though he assumes it now belongs to a member of Team Plasma. He suggests that Hugh should go and catch another one, to which Hugh objects that this Purrloin was caught for his sister by their grandfather, who has since died. Zinzolin dismisses this, saying that “an individual’s feelings” are “a trifling matter indeed.” He chides Hugh for wasting time on such sentimentality, then proclaims the ship ready to fly and summons the Shadow Triad. Two of them appear by Jim and Hugh on the balcony, and the third appears next to me on the lower decks. For an instant, everything goes black, and we find ourselves standing on the beach.
GOD DAMN IT, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS TELEPORTING NINJA BULLS#!T.
I run to get back onto the ship, but Zinzolin has already fired up the flight engines, so I start hurling abuse at them instead, beginning with ‘coward’ and working my way up through all the different possible levels of obscenity and anatomical detail. For some reason, the ship does not descend, but instead flies off to the northwest. As I slow down to take a breather, we here a familiar voice – “sorry I’m late.” Cheren, useful as always, has just arrived to tell us that he thinks the ship is heading for the Giant Chasm. We all hop on our respective Flying Pokémon and prepare to move out, but Cheren himself doesn’t move. I give him an accusatory glare, and he just says something about looking for the heroes, since only Reshiram and Zekrom can stand up to Kyurem. We’ll see about that, I mutter as I spur Daenerys into flight. This is my damn story, and I’m standing up to whatever Pokémon I please, N or no N. Daenerys the Flygon, Lydia the Swanna, and Hugh’s Unfezant soar off, past Humilau City and back towards route 22.