Minerva stared at the door for a solid moment after Vicky left. Agares grabbed the pizza as the oven timer beeped, being clever enough to use the mitts hanging off the handle—a testament to Minerva’s discipline or perhaps a past mishap. Minerva spent the rest of the night in silence, trying to enjoy what time she had left before it was time to work again. For whatever reason, Vicky always insisted on seeing her in person when they had phones. That bugged the shit out of her.

In the morning, Minerva tended to the miniature garden she had set up on the building’s terrace, finding Shax nestled comfortably in a planter—just how he was the day she met the Natu. “If it fits, I sits,” Minerva could imagine him saying with his vacant stare. She picked him up and set him in the lowered hood of her coat, ready to leave the laundromat with Agares also in tow.

Minutes of traveling through the back alleys of Helix brought Minerva and her Pokemon to a building space marked by an insignia depicting crossed swords over a gun reticle. Den of Saints, her home away from home. A few knocks on the door caused the slotted peephole to slide open, revealing a pair of eyes.

“Password,” a voice demanded.

“An Abra sleeps eighteen hours a day, unless it’s leap year,” Minerva responded.

A few clicks of locks and latches later, and Minerva was permitted entry. Instantly, she was hit with the smell of smoke and beer, and met with the sounds of raucous laughter and merriment. Bounty hunters of all ages and appearances occupied the bar and billiard tables, with two trying to best each other at darts. The interior was decorated with stained-glass windows and remnants of religious iconography, giving the impression of a repurposed church. Minerva took a seat next to a grizzled man and his Marowak.

“Havoc,” Minerva called him by nickname.

“Mermaid,” he returned in kind. “Ain’t you comin’ back from your surfing trip a little early?”

“Isn’t a little too early to be decorating the floor?”

Havoc looked beneath the stool at the pile of crushed cans and shrugged.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere. Anyway, I’m guessing you ain’t here just to shoot the shit. What can ol’ Havoc do for ya?”

“I was wondering if I could get some snares or steel-jaws off you.”

“Sounds like you picked up a job we didn’t get a posting for. Nothin’ coming in but small gigs all week.”

“I’d get big jobs too if I had a FILE agent in my pocket,” rang out another bounty hunter.

“Only three months in and you’re already getting too big for your britches, new blood,” Havoc shot back. “Shit, you ain’t even got a nickname yet.”

“Yeah, well that’s about to change, and I won’t be needing a signed gig to earn my patch,” he responded. “I’m gonna be taking an open contract: the pit fighter!”

The entire den went silent. A collective of smirks and whistles followed a moment after. Havoc rolled his eyes and helped himself to another beer.

“The damnedest thing about nameless hunters,” he said, turning back to Minerva. “Is that it’s a pain in the ass knowing what to put on their goddamned tombstones. Take a good look at that kid, Mermaid. You ain’t gonna be seeing him again after he walks out that door.”

“About the traps,” Minerva continued with undeterred focus.

“Right. I’ve got a crate in the back with some spares. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Minerva loaded up a duffel bag’s worth of tools before steeling herself for the hunt. Her own personal gear consisted of a set of knives that could be attached to a metal wire belt via a carabiner to serve as a grapple line, as well as pouches of powdered bleach from the laundromat. She was stopped by Havoc before leaving the den, handing her a weathered book.

“What’s this?”

“An old tradition we have here. You’ve been with us long enough, so I figured it’s about time. What you hold in your hands is a special codex passed down from saint to saint. In it, you’ll find our code of honor as well as detailed notes, sketches, and attached photographs from the other saints taken from some of their biggest contracts. Only thing we saints love more than cashing in on a big job is bragging about it, and you’ll see plenty of that written in the book.”

“You’re just giving me this?”

“Hell no. I expect that codex back when you finish your job. If anything, it’s there to help you get the lay of the land so you don’t get caught unprepared—that’s a saint’s biggest shame. In return, I’m countin’ on you to fill in some pages with your own stories along the way. By giving you this, I’m expecting you to come back alive. Don’t disappoint me, Mermaid.”

Havoc gave her a strong pat on the back before letting her get on her way, raising a beer as a toast. Outside the den, Minerva shot a quick message to Vicky, letting her know she was ready.