Roxie’s heart was pounding. She thought she was over this. Years of performing on stages big and small should have cured her of anything resembling stage fright. She was the face of her band—the bassist with the toxic touch who loved going wild on stage for her fans! She should have been well beyond this sort of intimidation!

But then, this was going to be far from a normal show. A chittering sound from behind her jerked Virbank’s leader out of her reverie. Cymbal, her much-loved Scolipede, was there, casting a worried gaze at her trainer.

“Don’t worry,” Roxie said with a smile, patting her pokemon on her chitinous snout, “we’ve got this, girl.” Cymbal shook her head with a rolling clack, and Roxie smiled—though she couldn’t help but notice that Cymbal had been a bit more laborious than usual. Well, tonight was supposed to fix that… and turn a tidy profit on top.

Out front, the emcee was winding down his introduction. Roxie would have to take the stage soon. She breathed in. She had this. She had it!

“—and we all know you’re not here for me,” came the man’s jocular voice. “Ladies and germs, I give you the woman you’ve been waiting for—the best bassist this side of Lacunosa—the woman who walks through poison days—Virbank’s very own Gym Leader, Roxie!”

And that was her cue. Banishing any reservations, Roxie swaggered out onto stage, the lights of the venue searing down on her.

“‘Sup, fuckers?” she yelled, gripping a microphone tightly, her voice reverberating through the club. “You like what you see?”

The crowd erupted in joy and appreciation, and Roxie smiled.

After all, she’d walked out almost completely naked. Oh, she still wore her punk-rock boots, the laces done tight, with striped stockings that made their way to mid-thigh, artfully torn and ripped in places. Her hair was pulled up, same as always. But the rest was utterly on display.