The air in the S.S. Anne's Grand Ballroom was a cloying mix of expensive cologne and the metallic scent of impending violence. I moved through the crowd with the practiced grace of a predator in silk, my arm still linked with Alain's. The masquerade theme was a godsend. Behind my emerald-filigree mask, my identity as a G-Pro recruit was shielded from the prying, albeit oblivious, eyes of the public.
And then, I saw them.
Leaning against a buffet table like they were at a Goldenrod country club sat the iconic trio of chaos: Ash, Misty, and Brock. Ash was currently mid-bite into a cream puff, his face half-covered by a ridiculous red-and-yellow mask that looked like a Voltorb had exploded on his forehead.
*God, I forgot,* I thought, the internal monologue screaming over the orchestral music. *The trio. The free tickets. Jessie, James, and Meowth must have played them like a fiddle.*
"Host, the Pallet Town Anomaly is within twenty meters," Nelly buzzed in my ear. "Recommendation: Maintain mask integrity. The probability of him shouting your name and compromising the operation is 98.4%."
"Copy that, Nelly," I whispered. I felt Alain's grip tighten slightly on my arm. His eyes were fixed on the far end of the ballroom, ignoring the teens in the corner.
"They're moving," Alain rumbled, his voice barely audible over the chatter.
The Captain stepped onto the raised dais. He raised a crystal flute, his smile wide and unnervingly practiced. "Ladies and Gentlemen! To the S.S. Anne! To the wealth of Kanto! And to the future!"
*The signal.*
The lights didn't just flicker; they died with a violent, mechanical snap. The ballroom plummeted into a suffocating darkness, broken only by the dim, red emergency glow that pulsed like a dying heart. The music groaned to a halt.
"Everyone, stay calm!" a voice shouted, but it was immediately drowned out by the sound of glass shattering and the rhythmic *thud-thud-thud* of combat boots.
From the service corridors, the "waiters" emerged. They shed their white jackets in a synchronized motion, revealing the stark, grey uniforms and the jagged red **"R"** emblazoned on their chests.
"Attention, you pampered sheep!" a grunt screamed, his voice amplified by a megaphone. "This ship is now property of Team Rocket! Hand over your Pokéballs, your jewelry, and your dignity, or we'll start making examples!"
Panic erupted. It was a wave of raw, unrefined terror. Rich heirs scrambled over tables, and socialites shrieked as Raticates and Koffings materialized in clouds of toxic smoke.
Above us, a muffled explosion rocked the ceiling. The chandeliers rattled violently.
"Lance and Lorelei," Alain said, his voice now a cold, clinical edge. "They've engaged Proton in the Captain's quarters. The distraction is set. It's time."
### The Shadow War Begins
Suddenly, the ballroom wasn't just a scene of robbery; it was a battlefield. Ten flashes of white light erupted from the crowd. The other G-Pro recruits—international officers from Kalos, Sinnoh veterans, and local undercover agents—shed their disguises.
Alain didn't hesitate. He tore off his suit jacket, his blue scarf catching the red emergency light like a banner of war. He hurled a Pokéball with a force that whistled through the air.
"Charizard! Battle stations!"
A roar ripped through the ballroom, a sound so primal it made the Team Rocket grunts stumble back. Alain's Charizard appeared, its Level 80 Champion-class aura slamming into the room like a physical weight. The flames on its tail turned a hot, brilliant white, illuminating the chaos.
"Clear the exits! Secure the civilians!" Alain commanded, his eyes already locked on a group of grunts trying to corner a family near the balcony.
I didn't wait. I tapped the release on my belt. "Nugget! Fearow! Butterfree! Glaceon! Move out!"
My team materialized in a coordinated phalanx. Nugget (Combusken) went into a low, predatory stance, her eyes fixed on a Rocket Machoke. Glaceon immediately fired an **Icy Wind**, creating a frost-slicked path for the civilians to escape toward the lifeboats.
"Alain! I'll handle the perimeter! Keep the heavies off the center!" I yelled.
"Done," he replied, already a blur of movement.
My role as Utility/Evacuation was a grueling dance of micro-management. I wasn't just battling; I was a guardian. A Rocket grunt ordered his Weezing to use **Sludge** on a cowering elderly woman; I snapped a command to Fearow, who dived with a **Drill Run**, intercepting the sludge mid-air and knocking the Weezing back into its trainer.
A Sandslash tried to ambush a group of kids from behind a velvet curtain; Nugget was already there, her leg glowing with the heat of a **Sky Uppercut** that sent the rock-type through the ceiling.
"Host, behind you!"
I spun. A grunt was aiming a stun-baton at my head. Before I could move, a bolt of yellow electricity slammed into his chest, sending him flying into a dessert table.
"Regina?!"
The mask had slipped just enough, or maybe it was the way I commanded my team. Ash Ketchum was standing there, his jaw hitting the floor, his Voltorb mask hanging off one ear. Pikachu was perched on his shoulder, cheeks sparking.
"Regina? What are you doing in that dress? And who's the guy with the dragon?!"
"Mission, Ash! It's a mission!" I hissed, ducking under a **Poison Sting** from a nearby Nidorino. "Stop staring and start helping! Protect the civilians!"
Ash's face shifted from shock to that familiar, bull-headed determination. "You heard her, Pikachu! Let's show these guys they picked the wrong ship! Everyone! Fight back! Don't let them take your friends!"
It was the spark the room needed. Emboldened by the sight of the G-Pro recruits and Ash's loud-mouthed bravado, the other trainers on board—mostly rich kids with pampered but capable Pokémon—began to release their teams. The ballroom turned into a kaleidoscopic nightmare of **Water Guns**, **Razor Leaves**, and **Embers**.
### The Escape of the Executive
Above us, the ceiling groaned. A massive chunk of plaster fell as a Dragonite's tail smashed through the floorboards from the deck above. We could hear Lance's booming voice and the freezing, sharp cracks of Lorelei's Ice Beam.
Proton was losing. But Proton was a rat, and rats always have a hole.
"He's bolting!" Alain shouted, pointing toward the grand staircase.
Proton appeared, his grey executive uniform torn, his face a mask of cold fury. He wasn't alone. He was flanked by four "Black-Shield" officers—high-level Rocket elites whose Pokémon were Level 50+.
"Cover the retreat!" Proton spat, not even looking back as he sprinted toward the stern of the ship.
The Black-Shields released a wall of Muk and Golem, creating a literal fortress of flesh and stone to block our path. Lance and Lorelei dropped through the hole in the ceiling, looking like gods of war, but the delay was enough. Proton had vanished into the bowels of the ship where a getaway sub was likely waiting.
"Dammit!" Lance roared, his Dragonite letting out a frustrated growl.
"Secure the prisoners," Lorelei commanded, her voice calm despite the frost coating her hair. "We have the intel. We have the grunts. Proton is a ghost for now."
### The Hubris of the Sea
The cheers of victory lasted exactly six seconds.
A sound like the earth tearing in half echoed through the hull. The S.S. Anne didn't just shake; it lurched. The entire ballroom tilted at a terrifying fifteen-degree angle. Tables slid across the floor, crashing into the walls. Crystal chandeliers swung like pendulums of death.
"What was that?!" Misty screamed, clutching a railing.
"We hit a reef!" Brock yelled, his eyes wide. "The storm—the navigator must have lost the line in the blackout!"
The ship began to groan—a deep, metallic wail of agonizing steel. We had hit a jagged boulder at full cruising speed, and the ocean was claiming its prize.
"EVACUATE! NOW!" Lance's voice boomed over the rising sound of rushing water.
The evacuation ship—a massive Global Police carrier we had called in to take the Rocket prisoners—was already pulling alongside, but the sea was becoming a churning cauldron of grey waves and white foam.
I was in the thick of it, my emerald dress soaked and torn at the hem. I was ushering terrified socialites across the swaying gangplank. Alain was beside me, his Charizard using its massive wings to shield people from the freezing spray.
"Everyone on! Move! Move!" I shouted.
Near the back of the line, I saw a sight that was both heart-wrenching and peak Ash Ketchum.
Ash was kneeling on the deck, the ship tilting dangerously behind him. He had his Butterfree—the one he had almost traded away earlier in the chaos—clutched in a desperate hug.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Butterfree!" Ash was wailing, tears streaming down his face as the wind whipped around him. "I was so stupid! I never should have let go of the ball! Please don't be mad!"
The Butterfree was patting Ash's head with its little hands, let out a soft, forgiving "Freeee..." as if to say, *'We're sinking, kid, maybe save the drama for dry land.'*
"ASH! GET ON THE SHIP!" Misty screamed from the safety of the police carrier.
"I'M COMING!" Ash yelled, finally standing up. But as he turned to run, the S.S. Anne gave another violent shudder.
Butterfree Pokéball—the one Ash had used for the trade—fell from his pocket. Because of the tilt of the ship, it began to roll. It wasn't just rolling; it was sprinting toward the gaping hole in the hull where the water was pouring in.
"MY BALL!" Ash shrieked.
"Ash, no!" Brock yelled.
But it was too late. Ash, fueled by pure, unadulterated panic, turned around and began to sprint *down* the tilting deck, chasing the rolling ball. Butterfree, terrified but loyal, fluttered after him, its wings beating frantically against the gale.
"Gods damn it, Ash!" I screamed, my tactical brain short-circuiting at the sheer stupidity of the move.
I couldn't let a civilian—especially one as plot-relevant and reckless as Ash—go down with the ship. I turned away from the evacuation line and began to sprint down the deck, my heels finally snapping off. I kicked them away, running barefoot on the wet, freezing metal.
"Ash! Stop!" Brock yelled, leaping back onto the sinking ship to grab Ash's jacket, but he slipped on a patch of Glaceon's ice and went sliding past them.
"REGINA! HELP!" Misty wailed.
I stared at the scene. The S.S. Anne was literally snapping in half. Water was cascading into the grand ballroom. And Ash Ketchum was leading a three-person Conga-line of doom after a rolling golden ball.
"I am going to kill him," I muttered, my heels clicking as I sprinted down the tilted deck. "Nelly, give me a trajectory! Alain, I'm going back in for the idiots!"
"Ash! Misty! Brock! If you don't get on that boat in sixty seconds, I am leaving you to the Gyarados!" I screamed, my emerald dress soaked and clinging to me as I dived into the darkness of the sinking interior, Alain right on my heels.
"Regina, wait!" Alain shouted. He followed, his Charizard gliding low over the deck to provide light.
### The Chaos at the Brink
It was a scene of pure, hilarious insanity.
Ash was sliding on his stomach, reaching for the ball as it bounced off a deck chair. "Gotcha! No! Wait! Come back!"
"Ash! Get back here before I kick you into the ocean myself!" I roared, sliding past him as the ship lurched again.
Misty and Brock, unable to leave their friend, had also run back onto the deck. Now the four of us, plus Alain, were sliding toward the stern as the S.S. Anne's bow began to rise into the air like a dying titan.
"We're gonna die! We're gonna die and I haven't even finished my cookbook!" Brock screamed, clinging to a ventilation pipe.
"Shut up, Brock! Run!" Misty yelled, grabbing him by the collar.
The Pokéball hit a railing and flew into the air. Ash leaped for it—a desperate, cinematic dive. He caught it mid-air, a triumphant grin on his face.
"I GOT IT!"
"GREAT! NOW LOOK UP!" I yelled.
A massive wave, thirty feet high and glowing with the bioluminescence of the storm, was curling over the stern of the ship.
"Nelly! Emergency deployment!" I screamed.
"Host, hold on to something heavy," Nelly whispered.
The wave crashed. The world turned into a churning, freezing vortex of salt and bubbles. I felt a hand grab mine—Alain. I grabbed Ash's ankle. Ash grabbed Butterfree.
The S.S. Anne groaned one last time, the hull snapping with the sound of a thousand glass windows breaking, and we were dragged down into the dark, cold heart of the Kanto sea.
"I... really... hate... boats..." was the last thought I had before the blackness took me.