Pokemon: Bounty Hunter Alex

Chapter 25: Chapter 25. My Sweet Summer Child

Jenny thought over Alex’s opinions on the matter and found no logical counterarguments. She might not have taken these ”toys” seriously when she first requested them, but after Alex’s convincing arguments, she had a change of heart.

Just because these guns were weaker than Pokémon didn’t mean they weren’t just as dangerous. And if Alex’s predictions were as serious as he claimed, too many people would die because of them.

And the Jennys would be partially responsible.

”Why didn’t you mention these concerns when you first suggested wanting guns?” Jenny asked.

”I had expectations, and they weren’t met. I assumed they would be a weaker version of this—one whose projectiles wouldn’t harm humans. Maybe a sting that would leave a mark or draw blood, but never projectiles as powerful as these.”

”These couldn’t even be used on Pokémon for a variety of reasons. In fact, I wouldn’t use them for anything other than Thunder Wave, Sing, or Hypnosis, since the possibility of the bullets exploding on accident is very real. If it were just non-damaging status moves, I might survive, but if it were anything like Quick Attack, my hands would be shredded, and my body would be riddled with holes.”

”Besides, you’re forgetting the reason we wanted these guns in the first place.”

’Right, the Beat Up strategy on Justified Arcanine. These guns fail at fulfilling their intended purpose,’ Jenny thought.

”Their uses extend far beyond a single-shot Beat Up strategy, you know. Imagine shooting our Pokémon with Protect, Helping Hand, Swords Dance, or Iron Defense. What if you shot a human with Iron Defense? What if you shot a Heal Pulse? What if you fired a Sheer Cold from Articuno at a rampaging volcano? Only science and imagination are the limits.”

”Then how would you handle our current situation? These guns are slated for release all over the world,” Jenny asked.

”I’m not part of your circle, so I have no idea what can or cannot be done. However, I would suggest changing the producers of these weapons,” Alex said, looking down at the gun in his hands.

”Someone made these with malicious intentions. They were designed to cause death, not incapacitation—and certainly not to help anyone.”

”If what you said is true, criminals already have these in their hands and are planning something big. Possibly something tied to the Human Supremacist movement I ran into. This seems right up their alley.”

”If the Jennys are serious about fixing this while getting back at those who started it, just steal their tech, produce your own version, and use the League to criminalize the ownership of guns with parameters that are too powerful.”

”The second you release peaceful versions of these guns, all of their collaborators—from children to politicians—will start crawling out of the woodwork to pin the blame on you. At that point, you can simply catch them or mark them until they do something stupid. And they will—given how asinine their propaganda is.”

”Going a step further, you could bait their criminal collaborators by launching some ’Pokémon are friends, not slaves’ campaign or festival. The more flamboyant and wide spread, the better. Then, you spring the trap and round up a whole bunch of them in one fell swoop, ensuring they slow down their operations long enough for the League to clean house and catch up—because believe me, they have plenty of corrupt politicians working with them.”

”Just make sure not to be there when it happens, because they will have something equivalent to a bomb big enough to destroy the city ready.”

”How can you possibly know any of that is true?” Jenny asked, exasperated.

”Oh, Jenny. My sweet summer child. You may have been catching criminals, but I’ve been swimming with them. I think like them, and nothing says ’do as I say or else’ than destroying the city holding the very thing they hate.”

Jenny was once again reminded of Alex’s maturity. Right now, he was genuinely concerned for her—almost as if she were his daughter. It was both sweet and annoying at the same time.

To make matters worse, his words were being captured in her live-streamed recording, which was immediately saved in the Jenny chat group. And it was killing her. He just had to say her name as endearingly sweet as possible—right into the chat group.

Having endured enough humiliation from his sugary words, Jenny decided to call it a night and cut the feed. The moment she did, she noticed Alex had stopped talking as well and was already loading bullets with Thunder Waves.

Jenny wasn’t as naïve as Alex made her out to be, so she immediately knew what he had done.

”I can’t believe you would humiliate me like that!” she shouted in horror, her suspicion confirmed by the amused glint in his eyes.

He had done it on purpose. He knew he was being recorded and had elaborated extensively on his opinion, as if he were speaking before the Council itself. He had even thrown in those parting words at the end just to cut off the feed.

It was downright evil.

In response, Alex set down his new toys, walked up to her, took both of her hands, kissed them, and then looked up at her.

”Haaah, my sweet, sweet child. I told you, didn’t I? You catch criminals. I swim with them. I understand them better than you do. You only see the results—never the process. You need to fix this if you want to catch smarter criminals in the future,” Alex said, staring into her wide eyes.

Since she had short-circuited, Alex continued setting up his pair of guns. Once he had both loaded with 40 Thunder Waves each, he cleaned up and placed the scanner, spare magazines, and extra bullets in his room.

Since there was no safety mechanism on them, he reused the trigger-locking pin that came with the guns and secured them. There was no emergency in which the guns would be more effective than Raticate’s Protect, so he simply stored them in his bag—locked and loaded.

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In modest houses and apartments across the world, Jennys from every region, city, town, and village logged into their group chat to catch up on news after a long, tiring day at work. The latest update was about their collective endorsement of firearms—new tools that would allow them to empower their Pokémon before battle. This enhancement would significantly improve their combat effectiveness, giving them an edge in dangerous situations.

Since the endorsement had been made globally, they needed to assess the results. What they found was a mixture of praise and criticism. Some complained that the weapons were too powerful, disrupting the balance of engagements. Others asserted that they worked exactly as intended. A few had experienced misfires, causing unintended accidents.

Reports of all manner of chaos filled the chat, but none were as thorough or insightful as the audio log left by the Kanto Region’s Saffron City Jenny—the one who had, interestingly, adopted a thirteen-year-old boy. The very same boy responsible for introducing them to this innovative application of a once-rejected proposal.

The one responsible for the current upheaval among their ranks.

As they tuned in and listened intently, they were struck by his mature tone, despite his undeniably youthful voice. He was surprisingly composed for his age. Then came his comments—his opinions, his preferences, his insights. Some of them chuckled at his childish enthusiasm, but when he spoke about ethics, the mood in the chat shifted.

His words were dark, laced with an unsettling realism. His perspective was drenched in negativity, yet they could not refute his conclusions. As police officers, the Jennys understood people better than anyone. They may not have walked the paths of criminals, but they knew the common man—those they had sworn to protect. And they knew that, more often than not, people would cause harm to themselves long before they ever posed a threat to others.

Had they made a mistake in endorsing this product? Doubt crept in.

Until Alex explained further.

Their assumptions had been flawed. They had miscalculated. And worse, they had overlooked a dangerous element lurking in the shadows. An enemy—someone who wished to do harm, someone with no intent for good. The Jennys felt a wave of anger rise within them, followed by an unshakable resolve.

They knew what needed to be done.

At the peak of their conviction, a sweet, affectionate voice whispered their name. It was spoken with such tenderness, such warmth, that an unexpected blush crept across their faces.

’What a sweet boy. Such passion, such care.’

”What a lucky Jenny,” they all gushed.

The younger ones saved a snippet of the recording to cherish later. The more seasoned officers laughed heartily at the boy’s audacity. The eldest among them, however, took heed.

Yes, he was sweet. But he was also young. Too young. Too inexperienced.

He had called out the scum that had risen to the surface of the turmoil, but he had not accounted for the dregs lurking at the bottom. His vision, though sharp, lacked depth. His reach was limited by his own understanding.

But they knew better.

And so, they would take his vision and refine it. They would deepen his insight, broaden his strategies, and elevate his schemes.

They would do as he suggested—

And then they would do more. So much more.

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