Objective: Retrieve the "Upgrade" Disc prototype from Silph Co. Research Lab 4.
Asset: Unit 4-Beta (Zeth/Cain).
Constraints: Zero casualties among Silph staff (to avoid League investigation), but total elimination of any competing "Third Party" presence.
Saffron City at midnight was a grid of neon pulses and long, hungry shadows. Zeth stood on the rooftop of a residential building overlooking the Silph Co. skyscraper. He had traded his League trainer jacket for a matte-black tactical suit. No red 'R'—Proton wanted this to look like a professional corporate heist, not a terrorist raid.
"System, thermal sweep," Zeth whispered.
His vision flickered into a heat-mapped overlay. The lobby was a fortress of automated turrets and high-level security guards. But the ventilation shaft on the 42nd floor—the cooling system for the mainframe—was a blind spot.
"Bagon, you're the weight. Croagunk, you're the key," Zeth said, releasing the two from their lead-lined balls.
They didn't make a sound. The Bagon's Dark Purple aura seemed to swallow the moonlight, while the Croagunk clung to the brickwork like a gargoyle, its orange sacs silent.
Zeth fired a pressurized grapple-line across the gap. He slid through the cold night air, landing on the narrow ledge of the 42nd floor. With a specialized laser-cutter, he bypassed the reinforced glass.
Inside, the lab was a forest of glass tubes and humming servers. But as Zeth stepped onto the polished tile, his Croagunk suddenly lunged, grabbing Zeth's shoulder and pulling him behind a heavy lead-shielded desk.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
Three suppressed rounds buried themselves in the wall where Zeth's head had been a second ago.
"Anticipation," Zeth muttered, glancing at the frog. "Good catch."
From the shadows across the lab, four figures emerged. They wore high-tech exo-suits with a jagged, white fang logo. The Iron Tusk mercs hadn't given up after the warehouse; they had anticipated the Rocket play.
"You again," a voice growled. It was the merc Lead from the warehouse, his arm now encased in a robotic brace. "I recognized that silver dragon of yours on the thermal scan. You cost me a Magneton and three good men. Tonight, I collect interest."
He tossed two balls. A Magneton (Lvl 28) and a Lairon (Lvl 30) appeared, their metallic hides gleaming under the emergency lights.
[Combat Analysis: High-Density Armor]
Magneton (Lvl 28): Electric/Steel. High Special Attack.
Lairon (Lvl 30): Steel/Rock. Massive Physical Defense.
Zeth's Tactical Edge: Bagon's Sheer Force (Dormant/Locked) and Croagunk's Dual-Core.
"No energy moves," Zeth commanded, his voice a chilling rasp. "We don't trip the sensors. Bagon—take the Lairon. Break it. Croagunk—silence the Lead."
The Bagon let out a low, vibrating hum. It didn't use Dragon Breath. It didn't use Rage. It simply sprinted across the lab floor, its small, silver body a blur of concentrated kinetic energy.
The Lairon roared, preparing a Take Down. The two heavy-weights collided in the center of the lab. The sound was like two freight trains hitting head-on. The Lairon was twice Bagon's size, but Bagon's Dark Purple potential meant its bone density was astronomical.
CRACK.
The Lairon's armor buckled. Bagon didn't flinch. It used its Rock Head to deliver a secondary Headbutt directly to the Lairon's snout. The Steel-type was driven backward into a server rack, its internal systems short-circuiting.
Meanwhile, the Magneton turned its magnets toward Croagunk, preparing a Thundershock.
"Now, Croagunk. Feint Attack into Poison Jab," Zeth ordered.
The Croagunk vanished into the flickering light of the server room. It appeared directly above the Magneton. In a sanctioned match, a Poison-type move would be useless against a Steel-type. But this wasn't a match.
Croagunk didn't aim for the shell. He aimed for the gaps between the magnets—the exposed wiring and the copper coils. His fingers, stained deep purple from the Dry Striking sessions, plunged into the Magneton's core.
[System Notification]
Croagunk: Poison Touch (Dual-Core) triggered. Effect: Corrosive Necrosis. The toxin is eating through the synthetic insulation.
The Magneton shrieked, a metallic, screeching sound, as the purple rot spread through its circuits. It fell to the floor, sparks flying as its electromagnetic field collapsed.
"How!?" the Lead Merc screamed, leveling his rifle at Zeth. "Poison can't hurt Steel!"
"My Pokémon don't play by the League's rules," Zeth said, stepping out from behind the desk.
The Croagunk landed behind the Lead Merc. Before the man could pull the trigger, Croagunk's hand clamped over his mouth. The Poison Touch worked instantly. The man's eyes went wide as his nervous system seized, his body turning rigid and falling like a stone.
Zeth walked to the central console. He inserted a bypass chip and watched as the data for the "Upgrade" Disc began to download.
[System Notification]
Download Complete. Bonus Data Found: "Project P-2." (Incomplete data on a man-made Porygon variant).
"Interesting," Zeth muttered, pocketing the disc.
He looked at his team. The Bagon was standing over the unconscious Lairon, its silver scales unmarred. The Croagunk was wiping its hands on a discarded lab coat, its yellow eyes scanning the room for more threats.
"We're done here," Zeth said.
As they retreated through the window, Zeth looked down at the Saffron streets. The League was sleeping. The "Public Face" of Zeth, the Advanced-Tier rookie, was tucked away in a hotel room with a solid alibi. But the "Ghost," the shadow who had just crippled an elite mercenary squad and robbed the most powerful corporation in the world, was just getting started.
"Tomorrow," Zeth whispered to the wind. "We go to the Saffron Gym. Let's see if Sabrina's 'prophecies' saw us coming."
----------------------
The extraction point was a condemned meat-packing plant on the outskirts of Saffron's industrial district. Frost clung to the rusted meat hooks, and the air tasted of stale iron and exhaust.
Zeth stepped through the plastic strip curtains, his tactical suit still humming with residual heat. He wasn't hiding his "Public" team here; Proton knew their history well. The Houndour had been a blind pull from a Rocket Pokéball random selection—originally a Green Potential specimen. However, through Zeth's cold-blooded efficiency, he had harvested Gate Essences from his own Charmander and infused them into the hound. This forced a biological breakthrough, polishing the Houndour's potential into the Blue Tier.
The Charmeleon, now standing tall at Zeth's side, was the true veteran of his early career. Zeth had been sent on a specific mission during the Island Trial to either capture or eliminate the rogue fire-type. After a brutal battle that pushed both to their limits, Zeth had claimed it at the very end of the trail. That survival bond, forged in the heat of a "kill-or-capture" order, was the core of their strength.
Proton was waiting by a flickering terminal, his Golbat hanging from a rafter like a jagged umbrella.
"Unit 4-Beta," Proton drawled. "I heard the Silph alarms went off. You're cutting it close."
Zeth slid the "Upgrade" Disc across the metal table. "The Iron Tusk mercs were already inside. I had to scrub them. The delay was tactical."
Proton signaled a guard to verify the data. After a tense minute, the guard nodded. "It's all here, sir. Plus a data-ghost of the Porygon-2 schematic. It's a clean sweep."
Proton turned his gaze to Zeth, his eyes lingering on the Charmeleon. "That lizard is hitting its ceiling, Zeth. Level 25. If you want it to survive the Saffron Gym, it needs more than just raw 'Blaze' energy. Sabrina's Alakazam won't wait for it to get angry."
Proton reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, lead-lined case. He tossed it to Zeth.
"The Board was impressed with your efficiency. This is a Grand-Mastered Fire Stone. High-purity catalyst, refined through three separate enrichment cycles. It's the second-highest tier of evolutionary item we possess. Only 'Perfection' tier stones rank higher, and those are reserved for Executives."
[Item Analyzed: Fire Stone]
Tier: Grand-Mastered (High-Purity Catalyst).
Potential Effect: Can trigger a minor Potential Jump or stabilize high-output energy cores.
System Note: Using a Grand-Mastered item at Level 25 provides Thermal Conditioning. It forces the Pokémon's internal temperature to match the Stone's purity, effectively "washing" the cells in refined fire.
"That stone wasn't found in a common mine," Proton explained. "It was synthesized from the volcanic heart of Cinnabar Island. Use it to sharpen your 'Public Face.' If a Rocket-aligned rookie takes Sabrina's badge, it humbles the League. But if you lose, don't bother coming back to this warehouse."
"Understood," Zeth said, snapping the case shut.
"One more thing," Proton added. "The League is looking into 'Zeth.' Your win against Julian Thorne made waves. Keep the Bagon and the Frog in the shadows. If the League finds out your 'Ghosts' exist, they'll seize them for research."
"They won't find out," Zeth said, disappearing into the night.
Back in his safehouse, Zeth sat on the floor, the case resting between him and Houndour. The room was silent. The Blue-potential hound sniffed the lead-lined box, its embers flickering low in its throat.
"Not yet," Zeth whispered, his voice like grinding stones. "You're at Level 23. You feel the pressure of the Blue essence, don't you? It's trying to expand, but your body is still built for a Green-tier's capacity."
Zeth looked at the hound's obsidian fur. In this world, evolution wasn't just a light show; it was a violent restructuring of cells. If a Pokémon didn't break its physical and elemental limits first, the evolution would be "shallow"—a Senior-tier Pokémon in an Elite-tier skin.
"We go to the Saffron Gym tomorrow," Zeth said. "We use that psychic pressure to push you. I want you to hit that Level 26 wall in the heat of battle. Only when your body screams that it can't hold any more fire... only then will we use the Grand-Mastered Stone to shatter the ceiling."
The Houndour let out a low, predatory chuff of agreement. It understood the path of pain Zeth was laying out. It wasn't about a quick power-up; it was about becoming a monster that could stand alongside the Ghosts.
Zeth looked at his team. The Public Face was preparing for a breakthrough. The Ghost team remained hidden in the dark.
"Tomorrow," Zeth whispered. "We show Sabrina that prophecies don't account for those who refuse to stay within their limits."