Chương 7: The Rust District

Saffron City had been built to make people look upward. Silph Tower dominated the central skyline, its mirrored surfaces catching the sun and throwing it across the surrounding financial district. Elevated trains traveled between polished stations. League banners hung from municipal buildings. Holographic advertisements promised premium Poké Balls, private move tutors, and vacation packages to regions Rine had known only through screens. At street level, the capital told a different story.

Service alleys collected runoff from the towers. Commuters stepped around sleeping laborers without looking down. Police patrols grew less frequent with every block east, until the gold of central Saffron gave way to rusted shutters, stained brick, and electric signs repaired too many times. Houndour saw all of it as new. She startled at the first bus. She tried to chase a flock of Pidove and became confused when they scattered in three dimensions.

At a butcher's stall, she planted all four paws and refused to move until Rine purchased a strip of cheap heart meat. He spent five credits. The joy of watching her eat lasted until he noticed a boy across the street watching with the hollow concentration of hunger. Rine gave him the remaining half. The boy vanished without thanks. In the Rust District, gratitude could imply a debt. The underground mall entrance lay beneath Central Station.

Rine's Rocket Watch disguised itself as a cheap personal device while routing mission directions through text. He descended among office workers and traveling Trainers, keeping his sleeves pulled over the screen. Licensed Trainers were everywhere. Some carried their Pokémon in balls at their belts. Others walked with them openly: a Growlithe in a municipal service vest, a Minccino perched on a girl's backpack, a broad-shouldered Machoke carrying delivery crates.

A boy younger than Rine argued cheerfully with an Ivysaur beside a vending machine. Rine looked away. Envy was pointless. It did not become less poisonous because its target had done nothing wrong. Houndour gave a low growl.

"They're not the enemy." Her ears turned toward him.

"Neither are we," he added, though he was less certain of that. The first camera hid inside a digital map kiosk. Rine walked past once, then returned while pretending to study train routes. Identify supplied the model, field of view, recording direction, and a partial network address. He marked it. The second overlooked the food court. Finding it required twenty minutes and produced a pressure headache.

Houndour waited beneath the table while Rine purchased the cheapest bowl of rice available and shared pieces of unseasoned meat with her. A little girl at the next table stared openly.

"Why does your Houndour have yellow stripes?" Her father looked up sharply.

"Lina, don't bother strangers."

"It's all right," Rine said. Houndour watched the child. The electric lines beneath her coat were still faint, visible only when the light struck correctly.

"She was born different."

"Can I pet her?"

"No." The answer came too quickly. The girl recoiled. Rine softened his voice.

"She's frightened of people. She might hurt you without meaning to." The child considered this with greater seriousness than many adults would have shown. She crouched several steps away without reaching forward.

"Hello," she told Houndour.

"I won't touch." Houndour's nose moved. After a moment, she looked away—the canine equivalent of accepting a truce. The father thanked Rine before leading the girl off. That small, ordinary encounter unsettled him. Team Rocket's language reduced Houndour to an asset, a mutation, a projected return. The child had seen a strange Pokémon and wanted to say hello. Rine marked the third camera near the southern exit.

MISSION COMPLETE Security nodes identified: 3/3 Reward: 150 credits Current balance: 295 credits Enough food for another week. He could have returned to the base. Instead, he opened the second assignment. COLLECTION ORDER 19-R Debtor: Haruto Senda Business: Lucky Noodle Amount overdue: ₽2, 000 Rocket payment: 100 credits Acceptable outcome: Payment or enforceable compliance The Rocket credit conversion was intentionally unfavorable.

A trainee received a fraction of what the organization collected, while purchases inside the base cost several times their public-market value. Rine understood the system. He participated anyway. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Lucky Noodle occupied a narrow storefront beneath an apartment block. Steam clouded its windows. Inside, six stools faced a counter repaired with mismatched boards.

An elderly man with a steel prosthetic forearm stirred broth while a girl of perhaps eight completed arithmetic at the back table. Rine stopped outside. Houndour looked up at him. Enforceable compliance. The phrase could mean a payment schedule. It could mean broken fingers. Team Rocket preferred ambiguity because it allowed the organization to reward cruelty without documenting the order. Rine entered. The shopkeeper saw the black watch beneath his sleeve. His expression collapsed.

"I paid yesterday." Rine closed the door behind Houndour.

"The account says you're overdue."

"Viper came. Tall boy, purple snake. He took three thousand." Cassian.

"Do you have a receipt?" The old man stared at him as though the question were obscene.

"Do your people give receipts?" Fair point. Rine scanned the room. One camera, old and disconnected. A curtain separated the kitchen from a sleeping area. Flour bins stood nearly empty. The child's shoes had been repaired with tape. Identify confirmed the prosthetic was corroded at the elbow joint. The man's health showed chronic pain, malnutrition, and an irregular heartbeat. Two thousand might close the shop. Rine heard Gideon's voice: Hold on to that anger. It is the only part of grief with market value.

"What is your name?" the girl asked. The shopkeeper went pale.

"Mei, go upstairs."

"But—""Now." She gathered her paper and disappeared behind the curtain. Rine felt the knife beneath his jacket. Team Rocket had returned it as a reminder. He could threaten the man. Houndour's appearance would do most of the work. One scorch mark across the counter, one broken finger, and the old man might produce money hidden for emergencies. The thought arrived easily. That was the first truly frightening part. Rine rested both hands on the counter.

"Viper stole from Team Rocket." The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed cautiously.

"You'll tell me exactly when he came, what he said, and whether he visits anywhere else on this block. In exchange, I'll record this account as disputed."

"Why?"

"Because if you had money, he already took it. Damaging you won't create more." It was not mercy. Rine refused to call it that. Haruto described Cassian's collection route. Three shops had paid him without the funds appearing in Team Rocket's ledger. Cassian was building private capital and using Rocket authority to do it. Rine recorded the testimony without the shopkeeper's face and copied the relevant account history. Before leaving, Haruto placed a covered container on the counter.

"I cannot pay you."

"I didn't ask."

"The Houndour is hungry." Inside was rice, broth, and scraps of boiled Tauros tendon. Rine should have refused. Accepting created evidence of an unauthorized arrangement. Houndour's nose pressed hopefully against his knee. He took the container. Outside, rain had begun. Rine sat beneath the shop awning and let Houndour eat while he considered his options. Reporting Cassian might remove a rival, but it would also teach Gideon that Rine could be used as an informant. Keeping the evidence offered leverage.

He encrypted it. His watch displayed the unfinished mission. Rine entered a note: Payment unavailable. Debtor retained as intelligence source. Evidence of overlapping collection under investigation. The system rejected completion but did not mark failure. No hundred-credit reward. Houndour finished eating and nudged the container toward him.

"It's empty." She nudged it again. Despite himself, Rine laughed. The sound startled both of them. Haruto opened the shop door behind them.

"You should not sit there wearing that watch." Rine pulled his sleeve lower. The old man nodded toward a narrow passage between buildings.

"There is a courtyard behind the laundry. No cameras." It could have been a trap. Rine used Identify on the doorway, Haruto, and the dark windows above them. He found fear, caution, and no immediate threat. The courtyard contained two broken chairs and a shrine to people killed during the collapse of an old tenement. Someone had left fresh flowers beneath their names. Rain tapped against a corrugated awning. Haruto brought tea for Rine and warm water for Houndour.

"You are younger than Viper," he said.

"No."

"You look younger."

"Malnutrition." Haruto's mouth tightened.

"Rocket?" Rine did not answer. The old man examined the prosthetic fingers of his right hand.

"They recruit from shelters. Detention centers too. Everyone in this district knows. Knowing and proving are different currencies."

"Why hasn't the League shut it down?"

"Which building? Which official? Which witness lives long enough to testify?" Haruto drank his tea.

"The Iron Talons raided a warehouse last winter. Found empty cages, clean floors, and three dead informants. Rocket opened a new warehouse before the guild finished its report." Houndour finished drinking and investigated the memorial flowers.

"The guild hunts them?" Rine asked.

"Some do. Some hunt reward money. There are good people in the Talons and people who would sell their mothers for an executive bounty." Haruto studied him.

"If you are thinking of running to them, think twice. They will see the uniform before the boy."

"I'm not wearing a uniform."

"Not all uniforms are cloth." The statement followed Rine when he left. On the way back, they passed the Capital Pokémon Center. The building occupied half a block, its white exterior bright beneath the rain. Trainers entered through automatic doors beside injured partners. Through the glass, Rine saw a Chansey guiding a limping Sandslash toward treatment. Houndour smelled medicine and stopped. Her body lowered. A growl formed deep in her chest.

"Different place," Rine said. He did not know whether that was true. Pokémon Centers were supposed to heal, but Houndour had no reason to distinguish one human medical room from another. A nurse near the entrance noticed them. She took one look at Houndour's ribs, the modified muzzle, and the Rocket-grade ball on Rine's belt. Concern sharpened her expression. Rine's watch vibrated. PROHIBITED FACILITY — 18 METERS Alter course. The nurse stepped outside.

"Does your Houndour need help?" Every old dream in Rine urged him toward her. He imagined telling everything: the orphanage, Tomas, Gideon, Mira, the arena beneath Saffron. The League would act. Sabrina might act. Police could surround the facility before Team Rocket moved the children. Then he imagined Gideon watching the location alert appear.

"No," Rine said.

"She's under private treatment." The nurse looked unconvinced.

"I can examine her without charge." Houndour pressed against Rine's leg.

"No." He walked away before the woman could ask his name. The refusal felt like betrayal. Of Houndour. Of Mira. Of the boy Rine had been that morning three weeks ago. Yet the alert disappeared once he crossed the next street, and no retrieval team emerged from the alleys. Survival often resembled cowardice from the outside. Rine hoped he would still recognize the difference when it mattered. On the train platform above, a public announcement warned travelers about a wanted poacher operating near Route Seven.

The displayed bounty was issued jointly by the League and Iron Talon Recovery Guild. Citizens were instructed not to approach. Rine studied the hunter pictured beneath the notice—a woman in a weathered coat with a Skarmory emblem at her collar. The caption identified her as Mara Vey, senior retrieval agent. For a moment, Rine imagined being hunted through the city by someone who believed herself righteous.

Then he imagined standing on the other side of the notice one day, licensed and free, pursuing people like Gideon. Both futures felt equally impossible. Houndour leaned against his leg as a train passed. This time, she did not flinch. Rine noticed and rewarded her with the final piece of tendon. Progress deserved recognition, especially when no leaderboard understood it. The train departed west. For a moment, he wondered how far they could travel before Gideon noticed. The answer was probably one station.

One station was not freedom.