The transport truck's suspension groaned as it rolled to a stop outside the motor pool, the engine's death rattle echoing off concrete barriers. Price was the first one out, boots hitting tarmac with a heavy thud that sent a jolt through his knees. Thirty-six hours of nonstop movement had welded his joints into something resembling rusted hinges, and the humid English air did nothing for the ache settling between his shoulder blades.

"Home sweet home," Soap announced, hopping down with entirely too much energy for a man who'd been awake for the better part of two days. His Arcanine, Skye, bounded out behind him, the massive fire-type's orange and black fur catching the afternoon light as she stretched her legs. She'd been cooped up in her pokeball for most of the exfil, and the pent-up energy radiated off her in waves.

Gaz followed, his Noivern—Echo—already circling overhead, the dragon-type's wings producing that distinctive ultrasonic thrum that always made Price's teeth itch. Echo had been invaluable on the op, providing aerial recon when their drones got jammed, but the bat-like pokemon was clearly restless, eager to stretch properly.

Ghost emerged last, silent as ever. He didn't have a partner pokemon to release—hadn't for years—and the absence was something the rest of the team had learned not to comment on.

"Right." Price fished a cigar from his vest pocket, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it. "Debrief in two hours. Get your gear stowed, your partners seen to, and for the love of God—"

The explosion cut him off.

Not a violent one—more of a concussive whump followed by the shriek of tearing metal and a cascade of shouting voices. Somewhere deeper in the base, an alarm began to wail.

Price was moving before the sound finished, instinct overriding exhaustion. "On me."

They cut through the motor pool at a controlled jog, passing mechanics scrambling for cover. The corridor leading to the east wing looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Overturned supply carts. Scratch marks climbing the walls in jagged, asymmetric patterns. A water cooler had been reduced to shattered plastic and a spreading puddle that reflected the flickering emergency lights.

A young private was pressed against the far wall, cradling his arm. Blood seeped between his fingers, and his face had gone the color of old paper.

"What happened?" Price demanded, already signaling Gaz to check the kid's injuries.

"Something—something got loose, sir." The private's voice cracked. "Came out of nowhere. Just—there one second, gone the next. Took out Corporal Davies and then just... vanished."

Soap crouched near a set of deep gouges carved into the concrete floor, running his fingers along the edges. "These aren't bullet marks." He glanced at Skye, who was sniffing the air with her ears pinned back, a low growl building in her chest. "Easy, girl. What've you got?"

The Arcanine's growl deepened. Her hackles rose.

"Movement," Ghost reported from ahead, pressing himself flat against the wall near a junction. His voice was flat, controlled. "fifteen meters. Fast."

Price moved to Ghost's position, peering around the corner. The corridor stretched ahead, empty except for more debris—and a fresh set of claw marks that disappeared around another bend. Whatever they were dealing with, it was quick.

And it was still somewhere inside the base.

"Let me get this straight." Price pinched the bridge of his nose, the unlit cigar now a mangled mess between his fingers. "A rookie found a wild pokemon off-base, decided to bring it in without clearance, and now we've got an unidentified hostile running loose in a facility full of classified intel and armed personnel?"

The base's pokemon handler—a nervous corporal named Whitfield—shifted uncomfortably. "It seemed docile when Private Harrison found it, sir. He thought he could contain it long enough to get it cleared for transport to a proper facility."

"Docile," Ghost repeated flatly.

"It must have been stressed. Confused. The base is... a lot. For a wild pokemon."

"A lot," Soap echoed, barely concealing his incredulity. "You mean loud, bright, and full of people who smell like gunpowder and adrenaline?"

Skye huffed in apparent agreement, pressing against Soap's leg. The Arcanine had been on edge since they'd entered the east wing, her senses working overtime.

Gaz had rejoined them after getting the injured private to medical, Echo walking behind him wings folded tight. "Sir." He caught Price's attention with a tilt of his head. "We've got a problem. This base wasn't designed for a manhunt. Too many corridors, too many blind spots. If that thing finds a vent system..."

"It could be anywhere by now," Price finished. He took a breath, held it, and slowly released. "Fine. We need to contain this before someone gets killed—or before that pokemon hurts itself trying to escape."

He turned, scanning the gathered personnel. His team was solid—some of the best soldiers he'd ever served with—but this wasn't exactly their area of expertise. Ghost could track a human target across any terrain, Soap could read a room for threats in seconds, and Gaz could anticipate enemy movements like they were broadcast on a frequency only he could hear.

But pokemon behavior? That was a different skillset entirely.

"Gaz, get with Whitfield. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with—size, type, capabilities. Soap, take Skye and start sweeping from the north end. Ghost, you're with me. We'll—"

"Captain." One of the comms officers appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. "Sorry to interrupt, but I've got someone on comms who might be able to help. They're already on-base, and from what I'm hearing, they've got more experience with distressed pokemon than anyone we've got available."

Price raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

The officer extended the tablet, a personnel file displayed on the screen.

Price studied it for a long moment, then glanced at his team. Soap looked curious. Gaz seemed cautiously optimistic. Ghost's expression was unreadable behind the mask, but his posture had shifted—attentive, assessing.

"Get them here," Price decided. "We've got a pokemon running loose in my base, and I'd rather not have to explain to Laswell why we're scraping pieces of it off the walls because we didn't know what the hell we were doing."

He handed the tablet back and turned to face the corridor where the creature had vanished.

"Whatever this thing is, it's scared. Cornered. That makes it dangerous." He looked at his team, then at the empty hallway waiting before them. "Let's make sure we're not the ones who make it worse."

The transport truck's suspension groaned as it rolled to a stop outside the motor pool, the engine's death rattle echoing off concrete barriers. Price was the first one out, boots hitting tarmac with a heavy thud that sent a jolt through his knees. Thirty-six hours of nonstop movement had welded his joints into something resembling rusted hinges, and the humid English air did nothing for the ache settling between his shoulder blades.

"Home sweet home," Soap announced, hopping down with entirely too much energy for a man who'd been awake for the better part of two days. His Arcanine, Skye, bounded out behind him, the massive fire-type's orange and black fur catching the afternoon light as she stretched her legs. She'd been cooped up in her pokeball for most of the exfil, and the pent-up energy radiated off her in waves.

Gaz followed, his Noivern—Echo—already circling overhead, the dragon-type's wings producing that distinctive ultrasonic thrum that always made Price's teeth itch. Echo had been invaluable on the op, providing aerial recon when their drones got jammed, but the bat-like pokemon was clearly restless, eager to stretch properly.

Ghost emerged last, silent as ever. He didn't have a partner pokemon to release—hadn't for years—and the absence was something the rest of the team had learned not to comment on.

"Right." Price fished a cigar from his vest pocket, rolling it between his fingers without lighting it. "Debrief in two hours. Get your gear stowed, your partners seen to, and for the love of God—"

The explosion cut him off.

Not a violent one—more of a concussive whump followed by the shriek of tearing metal and a cascade of shouting voices. Somewhere deeper in the base, an alarm began to wail.

Price was moving before the sound finished, instinct overriding exhaustion. "On me."

They cut through the motor pool at a controlled jog, passing mechanics scrambling for cover. The corridor leading to the east wing looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Overturned supply carts. Scratch marks climbing the walls in jagged, asymmetric patterns. A water cooler had been reduced to shattered plastic and a spreading puddle that reflected the flickering emergency lights.

A young private was pressed against the far wall, cradling his arm. Blood seeped between his fingers, and his face had gone the color of old paper.

"What happened?" Price demanded, already signaling Gaz to check the kid's injuries.

"Something—something got loose, sir." The private's voice cracked. "Came out of nowhere. Just—there one second, gone the next. Took out Corporal Davies and then just... vanished."

Soap crouched near a set of deep gouges carved into the concrete floor, running his fingers along the edges. "These aren't bullet marks." He glanced at Skye, who was sniffing the air with her ears pinned back, a low growl building in her chest. "Easy, girl. What've you got?"

The Arcanine's growl deepened. Her hackles rose.

"Movement," Ghost reported from ahead, pressing himself flat against the wall near a junction. His voice was flat, controlled. "fifteen meters. Fast."

Price moved to Ghost's position, peering around the corner. The corridor stretched ahead, empty except for more debris—and a fresh set of claw marks that disappeared around another bend. Whatever they were dealing with, it was quick.

And it was still somewhere inside the base.

"Let me get this straight." Price pinched the bridge of his nose, the unlit cigar now a mangled mess between his fingers. "A rookie found a wild pokemon off-base, decided to bring it in without clearance, and now we've got an unidentified hostile running loose in a facility full of classified intel and armed personnel?"

The base's pokemon handler—a nervous corporal named Whitfield—shifted uncomfortably. "It seemed docile when Private Harrison found it, sir. He thought he could contain it long enough to get it cleared for transport to a proper facility."

"Docile," Ghost repeated flatly.

"It must have been stressed. Confused. The base is... a lot. For a wild pokemon."

"A lot," Soap echoed, barely concealing his incredulity. "You mean loud, bright, and full of people who smell like gunpowder and adrenaline?"

Skye huffed in apparent agreement, pressing against Soap's leg. The Arcanine had been on edge since they'd entered the east wing, her senses working overtime.

Gaz had rejoined them after getting the injured private to medical, Echo walking behind him wings folded tight. "Sir." He caught Price's attention with a tilt of his head. "We've got a problem. This base wasn't designed for a manhunt. Too many corridors, too many blind spots. If that thing finds a vent system..."

"It could be anywhere by now," Price finished. He took a breath, held it, and slowly released. "Fine. We need to contain this before someone gets killed—or before that pokemon hurts itself trying to escape."

He turned, scanning the gathered personnel. His team was solid—some of the best soldiers he'd ever served with—but this wasn't exactly their area of expertise. Ghost could track a human target across any terrain, Soap could read a room for threats in seconds, and Gaz could anticipate enemy movements like they were broadcast on a frequency only he could hear.

But pokemon behavior? That was a different skillset entirely.

"Ghost, you're on tracking duty." Price didn't phrase it as a suggestion. "Whatever this thing is, it's leaving a trail. Follow it. Don't engage unless you have no choice—cornered animals are unpredictable."

Ghost gave a single nod, already moving toward the corridor where the freshest marks led. His footsteps made no sound against the concrete.

"Soap, you and Skye are on containment. If it breaks toward the motor pool or any exit, you intercept. Use non-lethal methods if possible." Price's gaze dropped to the Arcanine. "And keep her controlled. Last thing we need is a territorial dispute."

"Aye, Cap. Skye knows the drill." Soap scratched behind the Arcanine's ears, her tension easing slightly under his touch. "Don't ye, lass?"

"Gaz, Echo gives us aerial advantage in the larger spaces—hangar bay, mess hall, gymnasium. Sweep those areas first. If it's holed up somewhere open, you'll flush it out."

Gaz's jaw tightened, but he nodded. Echo shifted on his shoulder, wings twitching with readiness.

"What about you, sir?" Gaz asked.

Price finally lit the ruined cigar, taking a drag that did nothing for his frayed patience. "I'm going to find out exactly what Harrison was thinking bringing a wild pokemon into a secure facility. Someone needs to have a word with our enterprising young private."

The east wing stretched before Ghost like a wound, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead in their housings. Water damage, maybe. Or whatever had torn through here had done something to the electrical.

He moved low, quiet, reading the signs left behind. The gouges in the floor were deep—whatever had made them carried significant mass. The scorch marks suggested fire, but the pattern was wrong. Not a controlled flame. Something panicked. Explosive.

Frightened, he corrected internally. The handler had said it. Stressed. Confused.

Ghost had seen what fear did to creatures—human and otherwise. Made them dangerous. Made them desperate.

He rounded a corner and stopped.

A storage room door hung open, hinges buckled outward. Inside, shelves had been toppled, cleaning supplies scattered across the floor. This room had a single entrance, and Ghost was standing in it, meaning that pokemon may still be in here.

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