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Collected from Arsaga:

Then, disaster. The PokéCenter, nestled into the south end of the city, seems to be closed. With clouds smothering the light of the day, and no light inside it, it looks almost abandonned, a disheartening, almost frightening sight, though it's presumably just not active right now. As it is, it's a ridiculously small building, though given some others here, one might be grateful that it's not a small wooden shack, at least.

Meanwhile, as Nikki enters it, the PokéCenter remains cast in darkness, until the outlines of Rhaptor lean across the just as vague outlines of the counter and neon lights slowly flicker to life. Light fills the area. It's a very small pokémon center… possibly one of the oldest in regards to its gear, too, judging by the looks of things…

Rhaptor glances up at Marcus, though he keeps it brief - the glint in his eyes is still obvious, regardless, even as he casts his gaze back down, having sidled to behind the counter and run his hands across the surface, inspecting it, clearing his throat slightly, before saying: “All right, this'll take a bit of diagnosis, unfortunately, since this place is about as advanced as in prehistoric times…” He trails off, then shakes his head slightly, glancing up at Nikki. “Your pokémon, please?” He pats the surface of the table with his left hand, even as his right is busy with buttons and switches on some archaic healing device. His nose wrinkles a bit.

He takes the pokéballs and sends them, each, through the device, keeping an attentive eye on the read-outs. Silent. […] “Well, fortunately, no poisoning, no freezing, nothing of that sort,” he says, attempting both to be professional in his PokéCenter duties and brutally veer the conversation away from that. […] Setting his gaze back down on the pokéballs, he sets the device to simple healing - or so's to be assumed - and slowly but surely goes through the pokéballs, restoring the pokémon inside them.