The kid moved first.
A flick of the wrist, casual, like he'd done it a hundred times. Two Poké Balls left his hand—one aimed at the dirt, the other at the space just behind Orion's shoulder.
Orion didn't blink.
He dropped to one knee, grabbed the rock he'd been resting his hand on, and threw it at the airborne capsule.
Crack.
The Ball veered off course and shattered against a tree trunk.
The second hit the dirt and burst open.
A blur of blue and black fur launched out—Mightyena, mid-snarl.
Because of course it was.
Big. Fast. Teeth first.
Turtwig was already moving.
He met the charge low, shell-forward, slammed his body into the Mightyena's legs.
The beast yelped but didn't fall. It twisted and came down with Bite, jaws clamping hard on Turtwig's shoulder.
Orion cursed.
"Tyrunt—now!"
The underbrush behind the enemy exploded.
Tyrunt didn't roar. He hit.
Full speed. Head-first.
The Mightyena went flying sideways, hit a boulder, and crumpled.
The kid staggered back, eyes wide.
"What the hell—?!"
Orion didn't answer.
He was already moving.
Two strides. One grab.
He tackled the kid by the jacket and slammed him backward into the dirt.
The boy shouted—more in surprise than pain—and threw a punch that connected with Orion's cheek.
White flash.
Orion hissed, rolled sideways, yanked the kid's arm, and snapped his elbow against his knee.
Scream.
Turtwig stood nearby, panting. Tyrunt stalked up beside him, teeth dripping.
Orion sat back, blood on his tongue, eyes narrowed.
"Still want that battle?"
The kid curled, clutching his ruined arm, eyes wet with shock.
"I—You—You're insane—!"
"Yeah," Orion said. "And I told you not to follow me."
The boy's hand twitched toward his belt again.
Stupid.
Orion drove his boot into the kid's ribs. Once. Twice.
Something cracked.
The boy gasped and rolled, mouth open, spitting dirt and blood.
Tyrunt growled.
Turtwig didn't move.
"Stop," Orion said flatly. "You're done."
The kid didn't answer.
He stopped breathing.
The world went quiet.
Not forest quiet.
Not trail quiet.
Real quiet.
Orion stood there, chest rising and falling, hand still clenched.
Turtwig blinked once.
Tyrunt snorted and turned his head.
Orion exhaled.
Then moved.
He crouched and pulled the pack off the boy's body.
No good ID.
A few supplies. Broken rations. A busted energy drink with the label peeled off.
Two Poké Balls left on the belt.
He checked them.
One was standard.
The other…
Orion blinked.
Then groaned.
"You have got to be kidding me."
He held it up, turned it slowly.
Not labeled.
But the weight, the pulse—faint, but familiar.
He pressed the release.
The shiny Shinx appeared in a flash of red.
Same golden coat.
Same too-bright eyes.
Same little twitch in its tail like it was thinking ten thoughts at once and none of them were helpful.
It blinked up at him.
Then walked in a perfect, smug circle and sat down next to his foot.
Orion stared at it.
It blinked again.
Then rubbed against his shin like it knew it was a problem and was deeply okay with that.
"Oh, hell no," Orion said.
He looked down at the body, then at the Shinx.
Then back.
"No. I'm not doing this. You are not mine. You are not staying. This is not a rescue."
Shinx yawned.
Then stretched and bumped its head against his calf.
Orion sighed.
"No. No affection. No eye contact. I'm not a care center for stolen Pokémon."
Shinx meowed once—short and weirdly chirpy.
"Don't make sounds."
It meowed again.
Turtwig looked at Orion like, You lost this argument the moment you pressed the button.
Tyrunt tilted his head. Then huffed and turned away.
Shinx rolled onto its back.
Stared up at the sky.
Pawed the air.
Orion rubbed his temples.
"This is punishment. That's what this is. I kill one kid, and the universe gives me a cat."
He looked at the two Balls.
Took the standard one.
Pressed release.
A Nidorino appeared, bruised but stable.
Wild.
It looked at him.
Snorted.
Turned, and ran.
Orion didn't stop it.
Didn't need a second stray.
He returned the Shinx to the Ball and pocketed it.
No name.
No bond.
Just a thing.
He'd return it later. Or sell it. Or set it loose far away from him.
Probably.
He looked back at the body.
No signs of movement.
The ribs were definitely broken.
The arm was twisted.
Orion didn't feel proud.
Didn't feel much at all.
Just tired.
And alive.
He stood.
Turned.
And started walking.
Behind him, Tyrunt followed.
Turtwig fell in step.
And in Orion's pocket, the faint weight of the shiny Shinx's Ball pressed against his hip like a problem waiting to purr.