Brutus didn't march into the Indigo League branch office so much as hobble in with the exhausted grace of a man who'd spent the morning being emotionally eviscerated by a teacup-sized pink demon.
The building itself was unimpressive—red-tile roof, dusty blue bricks, the Indigo League logo peeling off the front like a flaking sticker on a lunchbox. Inside, the place smelled like printer ink, wet socks, and something disturbingly like boiled Tauros.
A bored teenager behind the desk looked up from a manga. "You here for the egg relocation job?"
Brutus blinked. "Yeah… how'd you know?"
"You've got egg goo in your hair."
Brutus touched his head. His hand came away shiny.
He sighed. "...Sign me up."
The girl shoved a clipboard toward him with all the enthusiasm of someone who'd rather be anywhere else.
Mission Briefing – Egg Relocation Protocol 227-B
Trainer Rank: Novice+
Task: Escort unregistered eggs from Viridian Holding Crate to Pewter Forest Substation.
Compensation: 4,000₽ + incident bonuses.
Warning: Wild Pokémon activity high. Egg theft risk: elevated.
Notes: Must survive.
Brutus paused. "Wait—'must survive?' That's part of the contract?"
The girl popped her gum. "You'd be surprised how many don't."
An hour later, he was in the back of a creaky delivery wagon, bouncing down the dirt path between Viridian and Pewter like a fleshier milk jug. The driver, a chain-smoking Exeggcute specialist named Pinto, spoke entirely in egg metaphors and smelled like hardboiled regret.
"So you're the mule," Pinto said, flicking his ashes onto a Growlithe-shaped air freshener. "You look like you could use some scrambling."
Brutus stared at him, unsure if that was a threat, a compliment, or both.
In the back, nestled in a reinforced crate and swaddled in heat blankets, lay six glowing Pokémon eggs—each one tagged, documented, and covered in enough League tape to make a hostage jealous.
Clove was perched atop the box, staring at everything like it owed him money. Cleffa, whom Brutus had tried to name "Disaster," had now officially been named Yolkie by the League's auto-registration system. Brutus suspected a cosmic joke. Yolkie was currently chewing on Pinto's seatbelt.
"Hey," Brutus muttered, "this route's safe, right?"
Pinto chuckled.
"Son, there's no such thing."
The route between Viridian and Pewter was scenic, sure—but scenic in the same way a haunted mansion is scenic. Tall, misty trees. A dirt trail that looked just barely traveled. The occasional chirp of Pidgey overhead, and the unsettling silence of something bigger watching from the brush.
Brutus sat on edge, heart racing.
"You ever done one of these before?" he asked.
Pinto was humming to himself, completely ignoring the question.
Clove, for his part, was alert—ears twitching, nose flaring, muscles tense beneath his hide.
Then it happened.
THUNK.
The wagon jerked violently. Brutus nearly bit his tongue.
"Wh—what was that?!"
Pinto pulled the cart to a stop. "We're being robbed."
"What?!"
"Or ambushed. Could be wilds. Could be trainers. Could be exes. You handle it. I'm union."
Brutus gawked as Pinto leaned back, lit another cigarette, and put his feet up.
Clove was already off the box, poison barbs flaring.
Brutus reached for his belt—okay, technically bag strap, since he couldn't afford a belt Pokéball clip yet—and fumbled out Clove's ball. "We don't want trouble!" he yelled, standing up and trying to peer through the tree line.
There was a long silence.
Then a shriek.
A massive brown blur burst from the foliage like a missile.
"Crap! It's a—"
"FEEEAAAAROW!"
The bird was enormous. Sleek and sharp and furious, with wings like cleavers and a beak that could punch through steel. It dove straight for the crate.
Clove moved fast—faster than Brutus had ever seen him—launching a burst of Poison Sting like a porcupine shotgun. The Fearow swerved, banking left, then dove again.
Brutus threw himself over the crate.
"YOOKIE, STOP LAUGHING AND HELP!"
The Cleffa was giggling hysterically. One egg had started vibrating.
"Okay, okay, think—uh—Clove! Use Leer! Scare the hell out of it!"
Clove narrowed his eyes. His whole body glowed faintly purple as the Fearow locked gazes with him—
—and then BAM, the Fearow clipped the edge of the cart and slammed into a tree, stunned.
"NOW, DOUBLE KICK!"
Brutus hadn't practiced that command yet. But Clove got the idea.
One kick.
Two kicks.
A shriek.
The Fearow flailed, dazed—and vanished into the trees.
Brutus collapsed against the crate, panting.
Pinto peeked back.
"Nice work. I rate that an omelet seven."
Brutus wanted to strangle him.
The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful—unless you count Yolkie nearly setting a berry bush on fire by sneezing Metronome, or Pinto singing lullabies to the eggs that sounded like war crimes.
By the time they reached Pewter's forest outpost, Brutus was scratched, sweating, and ready to sell his soul for a shower and six hours of silence.
The substation was a squat, stone building nestled beneath the high trees. A massive Graveler sat outside like a very angry security system. Brutus signed in with trembling hands, presented the eggs, received the 4,000₽ voucher and two healing sprays, and resisted the urge to weep.
"You did good," said Pinto, slapping him on the back hard enough to jostle a kidney.
"Thanks," Brutus wheezed.
Clove nodded solemnly. Yolkie burped.
That night, they made camp just outside Pewter—cheap tent, firestarter kit, dried noodles boiled in Pokéball-cleaning fluid because Brutus forgot the difference.
As the fire crackled low, Brutus stared up at the stars.
"They don't tell you how brutal this world is," he murmured. "How raw. No commercials. No theme songs. Just poison, blood, and paperwork."
Clove grunted.
"But I'm not quitting. You hear me?"
He pointed a chopstick at the stars.
"I'm going to make it. Not because I'm brave. Not because I'm good. But because dammit, I've got rent due, a feral toddler for a Pokémon, and now—now I've got a job. A real League mission. We did it."
Yolkie climbed onto his belly, curled up, and farted.
Clove stared at them both, then slowly turned away like he was ashamed to be associated.
Brutus smiled.
"…We're gonna be okay."
END OF CHAPTER 8