Facility Battle Tree Challenge: P2X7


heralds disaster.
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me, staggering in here having to pull text from data threads that I archived with my own hand, making this harder on myself months later:

You can't be stalled by the cold vacuum of space any more than by your pleading stomach. Soon enough, the command bridge's stockpiles of emergency manual construction materials--reserves of fast-setting concrete, pliable metal sheets, self-welding putty, and more--are heaped at the foot of the airlocking field while your Pokemon work to construct the object of your design. Long-shot though it may be, each participant knows that there's no time for second guessing. Or third guessing, as it were. If answers to your questions elude you at the last, it will not be for lack of effort.

Minutes that feel like hours pass as you work. The materials procured are industrial-grade, marked with simple ratings and specifications in plain monochrome
. The shape you are producing together may be outside of the imagination of the original designers, but they are well-suited to rapid construction and make complete, airtight seals wherever they are needed. Bafflingly, and against all sane assumptions, you have what just might be the galaxy's first space-worthy... concrete sphere. As the three of you observe your completed creation, you each reach the same simple conclusion: You've all collectively and totally succumbed to space delirium, and this endeavor will surely be the end of you.

With a shared sigh, each of your Pokemon crawl inside of the erstwhile vessel, followed by yourself. What follows is some amount of rearranging, maneuvering, and general uncomfortable shunting; and then a moment of quite. You run your hand along the inside of the sphere, considering its properties. It has a rough texture, as expected of a course concrete, reinforced by chewed-apart strips of sheet metal to act as a skeleton. The dull grey metallic epoxy fills any gaps that you can see, except for the circular opening that remains. Scirocco holds the last piece: A wide, shallow dome with the same heat-sensitive epoxy smeared around the edge. If the plan, narrow hope that it may be, should succeed, this lid will be adheared in place once the vessel has been prepared, sending the three of you hurting into the infinite abyss, in pursuit of your quarry.

The vast divide between the ships gives you pause for but a moment. In the absence of a landing plan, beyond the shock gear you were able to scavenge, a collision with the aberrant ship is likely to lead to personal injury. To say nothing of the vessel, which is likely to shatter into pieces not unlike an earthen vase upon impact. And in the event that you should veer off your mark, this plan will send you and your team hurtling across the infinite void, slowed by nothing but stardust and the imperceptible gravity wells of distant star systems, for time uncountable.

What's the worse outcome--a tomb of stone, or a tomb of ichor? Having seen the state of the
Starlight Delight, you conclude that a last rest among the stars, as your own self, is the kinder of the two fates. You ready the your partners' Pokeballs; once you're in motion, you can recall them to the safety within. With their sturdy constriction and seal, this modern model has been known to withstand the rigors of space and even of re-entry. Even should this last-ditch plan fail (which it most assuredly shall) your partners deserve every scarce chance at discovery, and at a future, that you can offer them. With that morbid comfort, you quietly issue the signal for Scirocco to give the vessel its needed thrust.

The ordered move erupts forth with finality, causing the concrete pod to slide across the floor at quite some speed. The flattened downward side of the vessel, formed of a continuous metal sheet, gives little friction to contest Scirocco's makeshift propulsion. When your pod clears the airlock field, designed only to hold gasses at bay, the ensuring vacuum effect is immediate and overpowering. With great exertion, your trio hefts the lid piece into position against the opening, the void of space nearly ripping the piece from the team's hands. The dull, shrill whistle of leaking air slowly dwindles into a hiss, and then nothing as the lid's epoxy expands in response to the harsh impact.

The sound of grating metal upon metal ceases moments after, signalling that you've cleared the edge of the command bridge's fracture and passed into truly empty space. With no view outside, there's no way to know your bearing. You hold each of your partner Pokemon tight for just a moment more, and then push the button on their containing Pokemon in turn, returning them to their confinement. You briefly consider the circumstance; containment within concentric containment. The vessels your partners inhabit are infinitely better equipped to endure the gulf of space than your own, you insist to yourself. Holstering them where they belong, you brace yourself with your legs facing what you believe is your direction of travel, and try to conserve what breath remains.


You don't know how long you slept, or if you slept at all. Perhaps you floated onward for an age, or perhaps you merely blinked. Either way, you are woken instantly and violently, thrown towards the forward end of your shattering vessel by a head-on impact. You cover your head with your arms as you collide with the shards of your constructed pod as it disintegrates around you, lacerating your forearms badly. You can feel the pressure beginning to build behind your eardrums and tear ducts as the last of your vessel's air pocket abandons you in any direction it can find. Before you can stop yourself, you look forward to see what brought your travel to an end.

A vast obsidian field, impossibly smooth and reflective, dominates your view in all forward directions. It recedes from you at the speed of your prior travel, but you feel you're perceiving this in slow motion. The surface registers in your dazed mind as the ship you pushed off to pursue, what feels like an eon ago. You know the shards of your vessel are scattering rapidly, but they feel as if they are suspended, unmoving. In your moment of reverie, you can feel the sheen of tears on the surface of your eyes evaporate into space. It feels like myriad pinpricks of heat across the entire surface.

You can perceive distant motion in your peripheral vision, to your right, but you do not turn to regard them. How could you, with no air to burn within? Your perception of time is beginning to slow to a crawl. You are no longer aware of the drift of your vessel's shards. A space-suited figure enters your field of view and pushes off of the ship's onyx surface, approaching you through the standstill time, adjusting their course with small jets mounted to their gear. Increasingly more sensory input is failing to reach your cortex. A space-suited figure enters your field of view and pushes off of the ship's onyx surface, approaching you through the standstill time, adjusting their course with small jets mounted to their gear. The black of the ship is eclipsed by the deeper black of space. A space-suited figure enters your field of view and pushes off of the ship's onyx surface, approaching you through the standstill time, adjusting their course with small jets mounted to their gear. The black of space is eclipsed by the deeper black of unconsciousness.


You feel the edges of a cold, smooth object press against your lower face. You feel your lungs repressurize with warm air. You pass out.

You hear hissing, then a loud metallic clang. You can feel yourself being lifted, then transfered to a soft surface. You feel the surface begin to move. You pass out.

You see blurry figures crowding around you, above you. You can see that they are wearing hazard protection gear. You feel a hard, cold intrusion into the vein of your arm. You pass out.


When you come to your senses, you find yourself lying on your side, chilled to your bones but very much alive. The surface supporting you is cold and soft, like a slab of gel. For quite some time, you barely move besides the expansion and contraction of your chest. After your recent experience, you are in no rush to do anything but savor the sensation of oxygenation. You settle into the soft, inviting surface and, for the first time in recent memory, allow yourself to relax. Despite the odds being stacked against you, despite the dangers, you've managed to survive the doom of the Starlight Delight. You are, for the time being, safe. Your partners are, for the time being-

You bolt from your resting place, stumbling, and onto the cold metal floor. Before you can even take in your surroundings, you reach instinctively for your belt and holster, which you find missing. Adrenaline rises in your veins and your pulse pounds behind your ears. Your mind races--were they taken? Were they lost in your crash? Where are you? That, at least, you can begin to answer.

You are in a cold, tall metal holding cell. The low hum of ventilation and of dim, sterile lighting, meets your ears from the high end of the room. You've fallen from an unadorned bunk, with an unremarkable gel mat. Across, a functionally designed end table holds sealed containers of water and stacks of edible nutrient bricks. Examining yourself, you see that your arms and head are bandaged. Reminded of the cuts you endured in your impact, the pain returns to your skin quickly, and you wince. Rubbing your bandages, you rise to your feet and begin to pace.

Time passes agonizingly in the cell. You hear foot traffic pass the large, featureless metal slab that (you assume) serves as a door. Each time, you pound upon it with your fist and attempt to establish contact, to no avail. You sit for some time, and then pace again, then you sit for some time again, availing yourself of the provided rations. You pace again, and sit again, and pace again. And then, just as fatigue sets in, and you begin to lay back upon the bunk, the cell door opens.

An unintelligible, mechanical phrase issues from the hallway, halting you in place as you rise. The voice is speaking no language known to you, but it is unmistakably human at its root. An intercom, perhaps? A different, equally unintelligable phrase with a vastly different vocal cadence issues forth from the hallway, and you bolt from your bunk as fast as you can in your state, fearful that the door might close again if you do not. In one direction, the hallway shortly ends, and in the other it terminates in a T-intersection. All along its length, the hallway is punctuated with countless cell doors, some closed and some open, much like your own. You refrain from entering any of them, so as not to risk becoming confined once more.

The intercom barks once more, this time in a language you recognize but cannot interpret. A language that is unmistakably Terran in origin! So this is a ship of humans, or close enough. Is the speaker trying different languages in sequence? You continue slowly exploring the hallway, looking for any sign of your partner Pokemon, and reply out loud that you don't understand. Perhaps the communication channel is two-way?

Sure enough, the next address is perfectly clear to your ears. "Please proceed with haste to the debriefing room."


Following the disembodied instructions issued by the intercom, you navigate the tangled labyrinth that is the bowels of the ship. After each command, you try to establish contact--asking where you are, why you are here, what the ichor was, and where your partners are; all for no answer but silence. However, when you ask for a direction to be repeated, or for clarification as to which path to take, you get a clear and immediate response. Whoever is manning the intercom is receiving your queries perfectly clearly, and staunchly ignoring them.

With no small amount of walking, you finally come to a wide hall, sculpted from the same cold onyx metal as the rest of the environment onboard. Situated in the direct center of the room is a solitary chair of plain black metal. You stride forth into the vacant space, each of your steps echoing back to your ears several times from the featureless walls. As you reach the chair, the hallway behind you seals itself with a heavy bulkhead. You begin to jolt to your feet before the intercom voice reproaches you. "At ease."

Starting from the bottom up, a projection of light materializes between you and the bulkhead. The light of the hologram tinges the entire image somewhat blue, but the figure is unmistakably an older Terran man. Wearing a heavy, unmarked coat and dark de-saturated clothes underneath, your first human contact in hours or days (so to speak) stands unbowed by his apparent years. Hard eyes and weathered skin suggests a lifetime of toil. The cut of his jacket resembles the peacetime uniforms of Terran military, but the lack of insignia visible anywhere associates him with no one and with nothing. Despite his phantom presence, the stare bearing down upon you feels unmistakably real.

His first message is direct and crushing. "You're the only human we've recovered from the Starlight Delight." You sit back down, all at once, and mull the words over in your head. The liner carried easily hundreds of thousands of jubilant, starry-eyed guests who wished only to see the wondrous cosmos. "The ship ventured too far towards the galactic center, and ran aground of its inhabitant or inhabitants." You jolt upright. The hologram stares coldly at you, inscrutibly, as if he is watching your reaction, measuring it.

"My name is Captain Odysseus Walsh. You are aboard the
Voidchaser, my ship, after you were rescued from your haphazard space-walk by my subordinates." You signal for the captain to backpedal--he said the galaxy center had inhabitants! This entire disaster is a first contact event, with a completely new species!

"Far from it." You blink. "Humans and other sapients have encountered inhabitants of the core, which we refer to as Unknown Matter, or colloquially as 'Ink', for centuries." It strikes you as odd that he still uses the word "human", but you instead ask the more obvious question. Walsh responds in an even, unreadable tone, "The homeworlds have never heard of the Ink, because no survivors have ever returned to tell the tale." You slowly rise to your feet, eyes wide, as the pieces of the broader puzzle begin to slide into place.

Just then, the bulkhead gives way, battered down in a single blow, clattering to the ground. You and the hologram turn to the interruption. In the hallway, striding into the debriefing room, is your faithful pair of Pokemon. Neither seems the worse for wear, and seeing you in health spurs them to run, nearly tackling you to the ground. For a moment, you can forget the situation and the cruel revelations you've been given, glad to at least be reunited with your partners. To his credit, the spectral captain waits patiently for some few moments before clearing his throat for your attention.

"As stated, no survivors of the Ink have ever returned to the homeworlds." You and your partners listen in silence. "This is because they, and their descendants, solely live aboard the
Voidchaser." You had surmised as much, and you nod in understanding. "You catch on quickly, so this should come as no surprise: We who survive the Ink, human or Pokemon, yet carry it within us, wherever we go."

Your heart sinks figuratively into your stomach. You had wondered during your escape how you had managed to emerge unscathed. In truth, you hadn't. You ask, what about your Pokemon? "We have found Pokemon to be resilient, but not immune, to the effects of the Ink," answers Walsh. Your Pokemon grab on to your garb tightly. "With treatment, some have avoided degeneration for years or decades; some, long enough to live out their natural lives. Others have degenerated rapidly, and there hasn't been an apparent pattern as to how or why." You ask about the treatment; what do they study on the
Voidchaser? What does Walsh's crew do?

"We chase signs of Ink activity, scour their territory for wrecks, and secure their contents," Walsh says. "Sufficiently untainted supplies are appropriated to replenish our reserves. Surviving passengers and Pokemon are brought in for debriefing, just as you are now. Depending on their degree of sanity and cooperativeness; they become crew, patients, or consignees." His eyes don't leave yours as he says this, but you can see a degree of greater weariness in his features. "We save everyone that we safely can. I can't jeopardize our mission for charity." Intentionally biting on the offered bait, you ask about the
Voidchaser's mission.

"We ensure the homeworlds know nothing of the Ink.
" Finally, admission. You ask if that means that Walsh's crew gets their hands dirty. "Of course. Frequently. Most wrecks have at least one estwhile escapee, placing their own wants over the reality of the situation." When you don't reply, he continues. "Everyone who comes into contact with the Ink carries it, and can convey it to others. The core's inhabitants have not been observed to travel outward in the galaxy. Whether they will not or can not, there's no knowing. No intelligent contact has ever been made with them." You ask the captain to get to the point, and he sighs before responding. "Yes, we do what we must when there's a risk of a containment breach."

Your stern silence invites Walsh to continue further. "We transmit no signals, and cloak the
Voidchaser as best as we are able, but we monitor every homeworld frequency. The attention of sapients all across the galaxy is turned starward, outward. So long as there are more worlds to explore; enough space for everyone to coexist, we can enjoy a stable peace. Every culture in the Way is too busy reaching for the stars to have time to have more than minor scuffles with their neighbors." And that's the final piece. You let go of a breath you didn't realize you had been holding, and your shoulders slump. "So long as no one knows of the Ink, they will continue to explore boldly. Ships going dark near the core will be attributed to spacefaring accidents, negligance, or natural disaster. If one--just one--peep makes back to the homeworlds, we risk the end of interstellar exploration. If one drop of active, infectious Ink makes it back to populated space, we risk the collapse of galactic civilization."

You aren't sure whether to believe Walsh, and you say so. He nods. "I understand that it's hard to take in. No one, in all my time as captain, has taken the debriefing well." You ask what happens to you next. "You will likely become our patient for a time. You and your Pokemon have withstood the effects of Ink startlingly well, and need to gather as much information as to why before you have a chance to begin to degenerate. You will live the rest of your natural live aboard the
Voidchaser, advancing our understanding of the Ink." With your partners again at your side, the fatigue of your exertions bleeds away, and you feel invigorated. You give your steadfast answer--Ink or no Ink, you have no intention of being anyone's prisoner or guinea pig.

In response, the hologram solidifies. The blue tint and transparency is lost, and a shadow is now cast by the captain. While Walsh may yet be a projection, he seems touchably real in the room with you. Your Pokemon step back in surprise, and then forward again to shield you. Walsh slowly inhales, seeming to draw air from the room for real. "We have no intention of harming you more than necessary," he says, "However, I'm afraid we can never, ever allow you to return to the homeworlds. I'm sure you understand." He draws a single, black metallic Pokeball from his coat.

You are challenged by Captain Odysseus Walsh!

Eden (Exeggutor-A)
NATURE: Serious (no change)

Size Class:7
Weight Class:8

Ancient Power
Breaking Swipe
Brick Break
Brutal Swing
Bullet Seed
Double Team
Dragon Hammer
Dragon Pulse
Dragon Tail
Dream Eater
Egg Bomb
Energy Ball
Giga Drain
Giga Impact
Grass Knot
Grassy Terrain
Hidden Power
Hyper Beam
Iron Head
Iron Tail
Leaf Storm
Leech Seed
Light Screen
Low Kick
Lucky Chant
Magical Leaf
Mega Drain
Natural Gift
Nature Power
Poison Powder
Power Swap
Power Whip
Psych Up
Secret Power
Seed Bomb
Skill Swap
Sleep Powder
Sleep Talk
Sludge Bomb
Solar Beam
Stomping Tantrum
Stun Spore
Sunny Day
Swords Dance
Take Down
Trick Room
Wood Hammer
Worry Seed
Zen Headbutt
Homesick (Toxtricity-Lowkey)
NATURE: Serious (no change)

Size Class:3
Weight Class:3

Acid Spray
Drain Punch
Eerie Impulse
Electro Ball
Fire Punch
Giga Impact
Gunk Shot
Hyper Beam
Hyper Voice
Magnetic Flux
Mega Kick
Mega Punch
Metal Sound
Noble Roar
Poison Jab
Power-Up Punch
Scary Face
Shock Wave
Sleep Talk
Sludge Bomb
Sludge Wave
Stored Power
Tearful Look
Throat Chop
Thunder Punch
Thunder Shock
Thunder Wave
Venom Drench
Volt Switch
Wild Charge

From Captain Walsh's first Pokeball, :toxtricity-low-key:Homesick the Toxtricity emerges.

Team P2X7
:mawile: HP: 080 / 080 En: 100% - CT: ◈ - Stats: 7/6/3/4/50 Hit: - - - Abi: Intimidate
:flygon: HP: 090 / 090 En: 100% - CT: ◈ - Stats: 7/6/6/6/100 Hit: - - - Abi: Levitate

Team Captain Odysseus Walsh
:exeggutor-alola: HP: 095 / 095 En: 100% - CT: ◈ - Stats: 8/6/9/6/45 Hit: - - - Abi: Harvest
:toxtricity-low-key: HP: 090 / 090 En: 100% - CT: ◈ - Stats: 7/5/8/5/75 Hit: - - - Abi: Punk Rock

"For humanity to continue to prosper, you need to become a statistic."
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