I woke early in the Pokémon Center rest room, the weight of the new Egg—its smooth, metallic blue-green shell—already familiar in my bag. Lotad, Wingull, and Sableye had finally drifted off from their watch, and I quickly recalled them.
After collecting Torchic and Mawile, who were fully healed thanks to Nurse Joy, I found Gym Leader Wattson sitting in the lobby. He wasn't laughing maniacally today; he looked contemplative as he waited for his Pokémon to finish their check-up.
"Ah, Stephen!" Wattson boomed when he saw me. "A champion always knows where to find good recovery! Congratulations on your Dynamo Badge once more."
"Thank you, Wattson," I replied, sitting nearby.
He sighed, the sound loud in the quiet lobby. "I'm heading out to the New Mauville facility today. It's an old, abandoned power plant, built many years ago, that we deemed obsolete once the city's power grid was upgraded."
"Obsolete?" I asked.
"Aye. It was meant to power the entire region, but a flaw in the design—or maybe just progress—made it redundant before it was fully utilized," Wattson explained. "It's completely sealed off, an underground ruin now. I use it sometimes for heavy-duty electric training."
He frowned, stroking his magnificent mustache. "But recently, I've noticed things are amiss. Someone keeps sneaking in and, worse, interfering with the wild Electric-type Pokémon that have made it their home. The Pokémon are distressed, and the system seals are being tampered with."
A flicker of anger mixed with my curiosity. Interfering with wild Pokémon and tampering with protected areas was wrong. "I'm coming with you," I decided instantly. "I want to see what's happening."
Wattson gave me a sharp, approving look. "Good! Two heads are better than one when dealing with sneaky types! Watt has already prepared the access codes."
We left the city center, following a secure, underground access route that led away from the bustle. As we walked, Wattson cultivated my understanding of the structure's background.
"New Mauville was a dream, Stephen. A huge endeavor undertaken by the Great Mauville Company—an early iteration of the current corporations here," Wattson explained, his voice echoing in the tunnel. "The ambition was to create a self-sustaining, clean energy source. They poured millions into this underground facility."
He gestured to the cold, concrete walls around us. "But like many grand schemes, it was rushed. The system was too unstable, and they were forced to abandon it, sealing it off. It became a graveyard for technology and a home for the Electric Pokémon that thrive on residual energy."
"The Great Mauville Company," I mused. "Do you think they are trying to revive it? To reactivate the plant after all these years?"
Wattson considered this, his brow furrowed. "It's possible. Corporation secrets run deep, and with the growing need for power across Hoenn, perhaps they think they can patch the design flaws. If they are, they are doing it illegally and recklessly, disrupting the delicate ecosystem inside."
We rounded a final corner, and the tunnel opened into a large, dimly lit cavern.
Before us, a massive, sealed steel door with heavy locks marked the official entrance to the abandoned New Mauville facility. The air here was thick with electric energy.
"See that?" Wattson pointed.
Clustered near the sealed entrance, using the residual power as warmth and sustenance, were several Electric-type Pokémon: Magnemite units floating and sparking gently, and a pair of Electrike curled up near a ventilation shaft.
They weren't aggressive, but they were definitely agitated. Their movements were jerky, and the low-level buzzing they emitted was more erratic than the calm hum of a healthy Electric-type.
"They're jumpy," I observed. "It's like the power source they rely on is erratic."
"Precisely," Wattson confirmed, pulling out a small electronic device. "Someone is messing with their home. And we're going to find out who."
He walked toward the massive door, inserting a key card into the access panel. The heavy locks began to retract with a slow, grinding roar. The path into the abandoned heart of New Mauville was opening.
The enormous steel door groaned, then slammed open with a sound that echoed throughout the cavern. The group of wild Magnemite and Electrike scattered, sensing the disruption. The blast of air that rushed out of New Mauville was cold, dry, and carried the sharp metallic tang of ozone.
"Stay close, Stephen," Wattson warned, adjusting his glasses. "The interior is a labyrinth of obsolete pathways and active residual current. Watt is monitoring the structural integrity from a safe distance, but down here, we rely on ourselves."
We stepped inside. The facility was vast and mostly dark, save for emergency lights that cast long, sickly yellow beams down the cavernous main hallways. Pipes, thick cables, and dusty control panels lined the walls, a monument to a failed technological dream. The humming of residual electricity was constant, an oppressive sound.
"This way," Wattson indicated, leading us down a narrow, caged walkway that overlooked a deep power shaft. "I've noticed the unauthorized activity seems centered around the old Documentation Annex. That's where the original blueprints and research logs were stored."
As we progressed, the signs of recent activity became undeniable. A heavy chain, which should have been sealed and rusted, lay cut near a junction box. A faint, non-Electric type footprint marred the dust near a circuit breaker.
"They're after information," I confirmed, observing the scene. "Someone wants to know why this place failed, or how to restart it."
The air grew significantly warmer as we approached the Documentation Annex. A low, continuous rhythmic noise could be heard—the sound of mechanical scanning.
"Someone's still here," Wattson hissed. He motioned for me to silence my movements.
We crept toward a large, sealed room. The door was slightly ajar, casting a rectangle of brighter, focused light onto the floor of the hallway.
We flattened ourselves against the cold concrete wall flanking the open door. Through the gap, I could clearly see the interior of the Documentation Room. It was filled with decaying file cabinets, dusty monitors, and tables covered in old schematics.
Standing over one of the large tables, using a portable, high-powered scanner to read data from a brittle scroll of paper, was a man.
He was dressed in non-descript work clothes—a dark blue jumpsuit without any obvious logos. He was meticulously focused, running the scanner over the document. He wasn't loud or aggressive, but his presence here was illegal and disturbing the local Pokémon.
He paused his scanning, pulling a small, metallic device from his pocket. He clipped it to the scroll, and I heard a faint whirr of data transfer.
"He's downloading the plans," I whispered to Wattson.
Wattson's mustache bristled with quiet fury. "He won't get away with stealing valuable corporate information and scaring the wild Pokémon.