DENJI – PSIA FIELD AGENT, SOUTH AMERICA
A battered pickup truck careened down a muddy jungle road, its cargo bed swaying under the weight of steel crates. Denji grimaced and gunned the engine of his motorcycle, closing in despite the sheets of rain lashing his face. The humid night air tasted of red mud and adrenaline. Palm fronds and branches whipped by in a green blur as he chased the smugglers deeper into the Amazon.
"Oi, slowpokes! You can't shake me that easy!" Denji yelled, though the roaring bike drowned his taunt. He leaned low, dodging a hanging vine by inches. Up ahead, one of the truck's passengers – a burly man with a bandana – clambered onto the cargo bed, wielding what looked like a Pokémon stun rod. The man barked something in Portuguese lost in the storm, then the truck's tailgate banged open, revealing a desperate measure: a large, scaly Arbok slithered out, hissing aggressively.
Denji's brown eyes went wide. "Seriously?!" he sputtered, swerving just as the purple cobra Pokémon struck at him with lightning speed. Its fangs scraped the air by his shoulder. Denji could smell the acrid venom even through the rain. Heart pounding, he yanked the bike into a skid, spraying mud. The Arbok reared back on the road, hood flared, ready to lash out again at the headlights cutting through darkness.
"Alright, ya ugly noodle... round two!" Denji revved the engine with a wild grin. Instead of veering off, he accelerated straight toward the serpent. At the last second, he kicked up on the foot pegs; the bike's front wheel lifted and slammed into the Arbok's chin like a boxing glove. The creature let out a gurgling hiss, recoiling into the undergrowth. Denji whooped triumphantly, even as his bike wobbled dangerously from the stunt.
Up ahead, the smuggler in the truck's back looked positively stunned – both by the Arbok's abrupt exit and by this crazy kid's audacity. Denji spat rainwater and pushed his bike harder, gears whining. He could just make out the markings on the crates now: black market tech stolen from Japan, likely containing Pokémon or weapon prototypes from the infamous lab theft. Makima had sent him to retrieve them, and he wasn't about to come home empty-handed.
The truck's driver must have realized they were out of tricks. Through the haze, Denji saw the vehicle veer onto an old rickety bridge spanning a swollen river. "Oh no you don't," he growled, determination fueling him. He raced onto the bridge right on their tail. The planks thundered under the weight of both vehicles.
Suddenly, a flash of movement – the bandana man tossed something over the truck's side. A grenade.
"Aw, crap—!" Denji had barely a split second. He braked hard and swerved. The grenade detonated with a deafening BOOM, obliterating a section of the bridge just as the truck cleared it. The shockwave sent Denji and his motorcycle skidding. Wood and shrapnel flew; the bike's back tire slid out from under him. With a yelp, Denji was thrown clear, tumbling onto the rain-slick boards. His motorcycle spun off and clattered into the churning river below.
Pain flared through Denji's ribs, but he was alive. He clawed for purchase on a half-shattered plank as the bridge shuddered. The pickup truck was disappearing around the next bend, its engine noise fading.
"Dammit… not good," Denji muttered, scrambling to his feet. He peered over the gaping hole in the bridge at the raging water. No way across here now. He wiped mud and rain from his face, wincing at a bruise forming on his side. Then, as if on cue, the universe handed him a lifeline: a distant roar of helicopter blades approached, slicing through the storm.
From the jungle canopy, a black helicopter bearing the PSIA emblem emerged, searchlight cutting a cone through the darkness. Denji recognized it – backup had finally caught up. The chopper hovered over the broken bridge, and a rope ladder unfurled to within reach. About time!
Denji managed a cocky grin despite the pain. "Hah! Saved by the bell." He leapt, grabbing the swaying ladder. Rain pelted his bruised body as he hung on, boots dangling above the angry river. Two PSIA operators crouched in the chopper's open door, hauling him up.
As soon as Denji was inside the cabin, he shouted over the rotor noise, "They went north! The bastards have a head start." He was soaked and battered, but undeterred. One of the operators clapped him on the shoulder, "Easy, kid. We'll track 'em." The pilot was already banking to pursue the fleeing smugglers from above.
Denji plopped onto a bench seat, catching his breath for the first time in what felt like hours. He brushed dripping hair out of his eyes and suddenly became aware of a frantic beeping from the chopper's comm console. The co-pilot glanced back at him. "You got an HQ recall too, Denji?"
Denji blinked. "Recall? Huh?" In the flurry of the chase, he'd ignored the vibration on the secure phone strapped to his belt. Now he yanked it out, perplexed. Sure enough, the screen displayed an emergency priority message. He squinted at the text in the flickering cockpit light.
PRIORITY DIRECTIVE – IMMEDIATE RECALL: All agents are ordered to return to Tokyo headquarters at once. (Code: Homecoming)
For a second, Denji wondered if he'd hit his head harder than he thought. Pull everyone back? That never happened. He looked up at the operator, who gave a grim nod of confirmation. "It's real. All field ops are aborted as of five minutes ago. We're heading home, kid."
Home. Tokyo. Denji's first reaction was a swirl of excitement – he'd get to see Makima again. Despite the rain's chill, warmth flooded his chest at the thought of her. If she wanted everyone back, it had to be something huge. Maybe she needed him – him – for a critical fight. He liked the sound of that.
But as the adrenaline of battle ebbed, another feeling crept in: worry. If things were so bad that even this mission was being scrapped, then the situation in Japan must be life-or-death. Denji frowned, tapping his foot impatiently on the chopper floor. "So we're just letting those creeps go?" he asked, frustration evident.
The co-pilot shrugged apologetically. "Orders. We have to pull out. Locals will have to pick up the chase."
Denji clicked his tongue in annoyance. He hated leaving a job undone – it felt like losing. Still, Makima's orders were absolute in his book. If she said come home, he'd come sprinting. He thumbed a reply on his phone: "Denji – Received. Returning to base."
As he sent it, Denji couldn't help a sharp-toothed grin forming. He could already imagine bursting into HQ, drenched in mud, and bragging about how he drop-kicked a giant snake off a bike. Power would be so jealous! And Aki would probably scold him for being reckless – but would secretly be glad he was okay.
The helicopter veered southward, beginning the long journey back to a makeshift airstrip. Denji gazed out through the open door at the endless jungle rolling by beneath. A strange thrill stirred in him. This recall wasn't the end of the action – no, it was the start of something even bigger.
"Finally, the main event," he murmured, tightening his grip on a ceiling strap as thunder rumbled in the distance. Despite exhaustion tugging at his limbs, Denji felt an electric excitement. Whatever awaited in Tokyo – whatever enemy or challenge – he'd face it head on, together with the others.
He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the ragtag team that had become his family. Makima, Aki, Power, Himeno, Kobeni... even grumpy old Kishibe. They'd all be there. Denji chuckled to himself. "Hope they got good food ready at HQ," he muttered. His stomach growled right on cue – beating up smugglers and riding through storms really worked up an appetite.
As the chopper carried him off toward the city lights far beyond the horizon, Denji allowed himself to relax. Rainwater dripped from his hair onto the floor, forming a tiny puddle at his feet. He was going home. Whatever it was that Makima needed, whatever threat loomed – he'd protect them all. That chainsaw heart of his (as Himeno used to tease) was revving up for the fight.
Denji cracked his knuckles and flashed a feral grin at the dark sky outside. "Tokyo, here I come!" he whooped into the night, the sound swallowed by the thrum of the rotors and the storm.