The rising sun barely touches the jagged peaks of Aurawood Preserve. Batgirl moves through the deep shadows. Her cape glides behind her like a whisper. Frogadier leaps ahead, a silent blue shadow among the damp leaves. It moves with purpose, its eyes scanning the dense undergrowth.
Batgirl's enhanced cowl feeds her data: common Pokémon. Pidgey. Rattata. Sentret. Zigzagoon. They scatter as she approaches. None dare to make contact. They keep their distance, wary. The rustling of leaves is the only sound. The air slls like damp earth and pine needles. This place feels alive. It is also unwelcoming.
She scales a sheer rock face with practiced ease. Frogadier bounds up beside her. From the vantage point, the preserve stretches out below. It is a vibrant tapestry of green and brown. A bird cries in the distance. The sounds of the preserve are a symphony of wildness. It is beautiful. It is also indifferent to her presence.
Batgirl activates her cowl's thermal vision. She scans the expanse. No unusual heat signatures. No signs of struggle. Only the gentle movents of wild Pokémon. They are everywhere. They are also elusive.
Batgirl sees a Hoothoot perched on a low branch. Its single eye blinks slowly. She approaches with slow, deliberate steps. Her movents are quiet, her presence soft. She extends a hand with a handful of berries.
"Hey there, little guy," she says. Her voice is a low murmur.
The Hoothoot tilts its head. It watches her. Its eye narrows. Then, with a soft whoosh, it takes flight. It disappears into the canopy.
"Well, that was…polite."
Frogadier chirps. It looks at her expectantly.
She spots a Poochyena sniffing at the base of a fallen log. Its fur is a dark grey, almost blending with the shadows. She kneels. She offers a berry from her pouch. Her voice is calm.
"Easy there. Just offering a snack."
The Poochyena's ears twitch. It raises its head. Its eyes gleam red. A low growl rumbles in its chest. The sound is a clear warning. It backs away slowly. It vanishes into the undergrowth.
"Guess my charm isn't universal."
Frogadier nudges her hand. It seems to suggest another attempt.
A Zigzagoon scurries past a cluster of ferns. It moves in erratic patterns. Batgirl tries a different tactic. She places a berry on a rock. She retreats. She watches from a distance. She keeps herself still.
The Zigzagoon pauses. It sniffs the air. It eyes the berry. Its whiskers twitch. Then, it turns. It zigzags away without a second glance. The berry sits untouched.
Batgirl sighs. She brushes a stray leaf from her cowl. This is not going as planned. Her logical approach yields no results. Her patience wears thin. Finding a partner for stealth is proving harder than she thought. It almost feels like they are doing it on purpose.
Frogadier pauses. It turns its head. It looks at Batgirl. A soft croak escapes its throat. It's a question.
He thinks I'm doing sothing wrong.
"No," Batgirl says. Her voice is firm. "Our mission is data, Frogadier. Not making friends."
She gestures with a sweep of her hand. Friendship is inefficient.
"Keep moving," she tells the Pokémon. "We need to cover more ground."
Frogadier stares for a mont. Then, with a resigned ribbit, it leaps forward. It disappears into the shadows once more. Batgirl follows. Her internal monologue continues.
Connecting with wild Pokémon is illogical. It's about observation. Analysis. Understanding their behavior. Not… befriending them. That's not my job. That's not what Batman would do.
She pushes through a thick curtain of ivy. Her gaze sweeps the area. She looks for patterns. She looks for anomalies. Her cowl feeds her a steady stream of environntal data. Temperature. Humidity. Flora density.
These creatures are part of an ecosystem. A complex system. Emotion doesn't factor into the equation.
Frogadier returns. It points a small, webbed hand toward a cluster of luminous fungi. It's trying to communicate. She consults her Pokédex. The entry for Paras appears. Its glowing mushrooms are parasitic.
"Paras," she states. Her tone is flat. "Fungus on its back. Noted. Let's keep moving."
Frogadier 's shoulders slump. It turns. It moves on. It is quiet now. She senses its frustration. She dismisses it.
My mission is to understand this place. Not to coddle a Pokémon. Frogadier needs to learn that. We both do.
She spots a patch of disturbed earth. A fresh trail of tracks. Larger than a Zigzagoon. Deeper than a Poochyena. Her analytical mind whirs.
This could be sothing new. Sothing worth investigating. Sothing that will yield useful data.
She follows the tracks. Frogadier keeps pace beside her. They move in silence. The rustling of leaves is the only sound. The sun climbs higher. It filters through the canopy. It paints the forest floor in dappled light. The air grows warr. It is also heavy with the scent of damp earth. She checks her comms. Still no word from the others.
Good. Less distraction. More focus on the task at hand.
Batgirl and Frogadier move deeper into the preserve. The trees grow denser. The light dims. They step into a clearing. Batgirl stops short. Her eyes scan the ground. She sees clear evidence of trouble.
Vines lie neatly severed. The cuts are too clean for any animal.
Leaves shimr with residual static. An energy trap was here. She photographs the site with her cowl.
A tranquilizer dart lies discarded. Its tip glows faintly. She bags it.
She finds a broken containnt net. A faint, serpent-like symbol is etched into the sh. It is unlike anything she's seen. She snaps a picture.
"This isn't natural," she mutters.
Frogadier looks at the symbol. It croaks a question.
"Soone is hunting Pokémon," Batgirl replies. Her voice hardens. "And they're organized."
Her mission shifts. She needs to find whoever left these traces. The stakes just rose.
Batgirl looks at the dart, at the broken net. She looks at the unnatural cut marks on the vines. This is no random encounter. This is sothing organized. She pulls out her comms.
She considers calling Batman. She considers calling Nightwing. She even considers calling Orion.
No. This is her territory. Her lead. She can handle this.
Her cowl projects a topographic map of the preserve. It highlights potential paths. It highlights observation points. She plots a course. She plans an overnight stakeout.
She can control every variable alone. There are no mistakes when you work by yourself. There are no distractions. There are no complications. This is the only way to get real answers. This is the only way to protect the preserve.
She slips a small, high-energy ration bar from her utility belt. She takes a bite. It tastes like synthetic berries. She washes it down with a sip of water. She checks her gear. Everything is in order.
"Frogadier," she whispers.
Frogadier looks up. Its eyes are bright. It is ready.
"We're staying," she says. "We're finding out who's doing this."
Frogadier gives a determined nod. It knows the mission now. They are a team. They move with quiet purpose. They disappear into the deeper shadows of Aurawood. The hunt is on.
***
Give power stones to support this book.
Advance chapters in P@T0n Najicablitz.
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