POKEMON_MASTER_0
caffeine 1mg/mL, 240 mL po q4h prn fatigue
- 88
- Posts
- 15
- Years
- Age 31
- Spokane, WA
- Seen May 25, 2022
*This is rated PG-13, as it features occasional violence and very occasional (practically non-existent) crude humor.*
I will start by saying that this was my first fan fiction and that I completed it recently. I decided that I wanted to post it here in addition to the place where it currently sits at. However, upon looking back on my earliest chapters, I realized that they do not reflect my current writing style. I am in the process of rewriting it.
So let me know what you think of the rewritten version. While reading, though, keep in mind that this fan fiction is complete. If you criticize a major plot element, I will likely not change it. I am writing a sequel to this fan fiction, and changing major plot devices in this fan fiction might cause some major confusion in the sequel. This does not mean that I want you to stay silent about major plot devices. I want to know what works and what doesn't so that I can improve as a writer. Just bare in mind that plot devices in this particular story are not likely to be changed.
That aside, here's the first chapter:
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He raced down the hall, riding a fresh shot of adrenaline. Seconds before, the bell had rang, signaling the beginning of the five-minute transition period.
He dodged clumps of socializing teens that formed in the narrow hall; blood clots in a vain. He weaved in and out of the masses that were moving two slowly for his taste. There was an excess of 500 students roaming the halls right now. All of them were destined for their final class of the day.
He ignored the back-aching pile of books between his shoulders and the sweat that drenched the front of his curly hair. A single thought that took precedence over all else surged through his head: "Get there before the bell!"
He bolted up a flight of stairs, stride enabling him to take two steps at a time. Behind him and before him echoed footsteps as other teens like him trudged up the stairs. He reached the top: lungs gasping for air and legs tingling.
He threw open a heavy wooden door and entered the room. It was drab. White walls and gray carpet were lit by a pale light that came through the shaded windows. A steady hum could be heard, contrary to the footsteps outside. He strode toward a row of tables that housed computers, plopped down on his seat and threw the heavy pack to the floor.
He sat there for a few seconds, feeling the pain in his back and legs dissipate. Then, he glanced up at the clock. The red digits read 12:31. He had arrived well before the five-minute mark. Not even the teacher had come yet.
He turned to the blank monitor, pressed the spacebar to bring it to life, and then input his login information. He gazed blankly into the screen as the information loaded, tired, green eyes staring back at him.
Once the desktop was fully up, he accessed the internet and checked the encyclopedia article that he had viewed hundreds of times. Accompanying it was a familiar picture: a blurred speck of red and white back dropped by a sea of greenery.
"Latias. Possibly one of the world's rarest Pokémon. There are thought to be less than twenty worldwide. Unlike most Pokémon, their behavioral patterns are not well understood. Their habitat-"
A creak rang out. Hastily, he closed the browser. The door opened and a steady stream of students trickled in. They took their places at the rows of tables and computers in front of him.
One minute before the bell, the teacher finally burst into the room, straight, gray hair bobbing and white unbuttoned coat swaying as he made his way to the front of the desk in the front. The man stooped his lean figure to open and dig through the contents a drawer. He pulled out a paper, slapped it down on his desk, and thrust himself into a metal chair.
"What we doing today, Mr. Hayes?" a kid asked from the front.
The teacher squinted at his student. "Work," he barked, wrinkled face taking on the guise of a grouchy old man.
"What kinda work?" the boy persisted.
"Tough work," Mr. Hayes declared.
The student was elbowed by a giggling neighbor.
From behind his computer in the back, he shook his head at the idleness of this conversation while simultaneously unzipping his bag and taking out a pen and a sheet of notebook paper in preparation for the aforementioned work.
A few seconds later, the bell rang, signaling the official start of the class.
Mr. Hayes pushed back in his chair, extended himself to his full height and walked before the white board.
"First of all…any of you who are playing games, or checking your email, or talking to your friends, turn off your monitors. You won't need them today."
A wave of clicks and blacking-out screens followed.
"Thank you. Now…for all of you here, this is the first year: you're fourteen years old and you're looking forward to getting your first Pokémon. When you get it, naturally, you would want to know everything about it: diet, behavior, physical characteristics."
"This next project will prepare you for this learning experience. You will choose a Pokémon. Obviously, this is for research purposes only. I would recommend that you choose one that you like, however. You will be writing a paper, a paper that will be three pages in length…"
Five pages of notes and one and a half hours later, the bell signaled the end of the day.
"Remember, you must have your Pokémon selected by next Friday!" Mr. Hayes boomed over the racket of shuffling papers, backpacks, and feet.
Even before the bell rang, the student in the back had all of his work packed away. When the time came, he simply threw his backpack over his shoulder and strode out of the room long before anyone else. His tennis shoes pounded down the steps until they reached the bottom floor. He turned down one of the narrow halls (now free of biological obstructions, thanks to his ability to be the first one out of class).
He thrust open a metal door and walked out into a cloudy, breezy afternoon. It was refreshing after having been in the confines of the building all day. Across the concrete slab he stood on were more multi-story buildings with more students beginning to pour out.
They would assemble in the middle of the slab. They would shout and laugh about their day. Jokes would be told, whiners would whine, hugs and kisses would be exchanged as a sign of a sort of juvenile love. It was an end of the day social hour.
He avoided it all by taking a path that lead away from the slab and down to the street that bordered the school. Tentatively, the boy looked both ways before crossing the carless avenue. The path continued on the other side. He ducked into a forest that engulfed it.
It was a cave that had a ceiling of low-hanging, light-filtering pine bows and a floor of dark-brown dirt saturated from last night's storm. The floor squished in protest beneath his feet while the pine needles tickled his nose. It was not the most sensually pleasant experience, but he liked it just the same. The forest gave him a strange sense of both solitude and wholeness. In his mind, being part of a group was not the exclusive equivalent to happiness. There were other ways to achieve it.
He emerged from the woods, brushing needles from his orange sweatshirt and pulling filaments of webbing from his hair. Spinarak: that was the reason why his parents didn't want him to travel this way. He had no way of defending himself from the Pokémon. Still, over the past year he had traveled this path every day without even seeing one Spinarak. He didn't think that there was reason to worry.
He stepped out of the bushes and into a ghost town of a neighborhood. Boarded up windows, peeling, faded blue paint, overgrown yards, and weed-filled sidewalks were the highlights of this decrepit place. All of the houses looked the same: one-story and box shaped. It was a housing project started during a population boom. For reasons unknown to him, the boom died out quickly. Hundreds of houses were built and then left to rot away. Now all that was left were their skeletons, groaning and howling with the wind.
Perhaps his parents would not want him in this part of town either. However, as with the forest, he had never had troubles with it before. It seemed perfectly safe.
He stepped off of the sidewalk and treaded the spider-webbed asphalt beneath him. He looked down at the cracks, allowing his mind to reach a sort of focus.
"What should I do for that report?" he thought to himself. "Latias? No, not enough information. Eevee? Too overused. Zigzagoon? Too generic-"
The ear piercing shriek of rubber on asphalt rang out.
He jumped back onto the sidewalk and glanced both ways. Nothing was there, no vehicles could be seen.
Then a tremendous boom echoed throughout the entire neighborhood. It was followed up by an equally loud metallic screech.
He stood there, legs braced and fists clenched, waiting for the next sound. Thirty seconds later and nothing stirred. Perhaps it was at the intersection up ahead. He jogged there, eyes darting from house to house in search of the source. Occasionally, he threw a backwards glance to make sure that no one was following him.
For a second, he thought he could sense something. It was a nagging, kind of forceful emotion. Just as soon as it had come, it disappeared. He discarded it as a figment of his imagination.
As he neared the intersection, he heard voices: male and agitated. By the time he had confirmed this fact, it was too late to turn back. He was now standing on the corner, peering down the adjacent street. What he saw defied belief. A white commercial truck was on its side, lying in the center of the road. The first thing that caught his attention was a hole bordered by twisted fragments of metal. Oddly enough it was on the skyward-facing side of the metal box: the side that probably hadn't touched the pavement at all.
Beside the truck were three figures, all clothed in black. Two of them seemed to be about the same height, the other was a head taller.
"What the heck was that for?" one of the smaller ones whined.
"I-I don't know," the other stammered. "One moment, everything was fine. Then this big headache came…but I don't have it anymore! It doesn't make any sense! It's-"
"Shut up," the taller one commanded in a cold tone.
Both went silent abruptly.
"I don't care why you crashed the truck. All that I care about is that she escaped."
He pointed to the hole in the box.
"If the boss hears that we lost her, he'll be angry and he'll dock our pay. We need to get her back. She's still drugged so she couldn't have gone too far. First, you two-"
The man spun around to face the student who was still a good twenty feet away. The boy cringed.
"That's not good," the leader stated, back still turned to his underlings. "You two, go after him. I'll go after her."
The man turned and darted away from the boy's position, leaving the thugs behind.
The student's face paled, his palms went sweaty, and spots appeared before his eyes. The two reached into their pockets and produced Pokeballs. That was all the galvanization his body needed. Feeling a second, more powerful surge of adrenaline than the last, he turned on his heels and sprinted.
I will start by saying that this was my first fan fiction and that I completed it recently. I decided that I wanted to post it here in addition to the place where it currently sits at. However, upon looking back on my earliest chapters, I realized that they do not reflect my current writing style. I am in the process of rewriting it.
So let me know what you think of the rewritten version. While reading, though, keep in mind that this fan fiction is complete. If you criticize a major plot element, I will likely not change it. I am writing a sequel to this fan fiction, and changing major plot devices in this fan fiction might cause some major confusion in the sequel. This does not mean that I want you to stay silent about major plot devices. I want to know what works and what doesn't so that I can improve as a writer. Just bare in mind that plot devices in this particular story are not likely to be changed.
That aside, here's the first chapter:
[FONT="]
[/FONT]
CHAPTER 1: Future Trainer
He raced down the hall, riding a fresh shot of adrenaline. Seconds before, the bell had rang, signaling the beginning of the five-minute transition period.
He dodged clumps of socializing teens that formed in the narrow hall; blood clots in a vain. He weaved in and out of the masses that were moving two slowly for his taste. There was an excess of 500 students roaming the halls right now. All of them were destined for their final class of the day.
He ignored the back-aching pile of books between his shoulders and the sweat that drenched the front of his curly hair. A single thought that took precedence over all else surged through his head: "Get there before the bell!"
He bolted up a flight of stairs, stride enabling him to take two steps at a time. Behind him and before him echoed footsteps as other teens like him trudged up the stairs. He reached the top: lungs gasping for air and legs tingling.
He threw open a heavy wooden door and entered the room. It was drab. White walls and gray carpet were lit by a pale light that came through the shaded windows. A steady hum could be heard, contrary to the footsteps outside. He strode toward a row of tables that housed computers, plopped down on his seat and threw the heavy pack to the floor.
He sat there for a few seconds, feeling the pain in his back and legs dissipate. Then, he glanced up at the clock. The red digits read 12:31. He had arrived well before the five-minute mark. Not even the teacher had come yet.
He turned to the blank monitor, pressed the spacebar to bring it to life, and then input his login information. He gazed blankly into the screen as the information loaded, tired, green eyes staring back at him.
Once the desktop was fully up, he accessed the internet and checked the encyclopedia article that he had viewed hundreds of times. Accompanying it was a familiar picture: a blurred speck of red and white back dropped by a sea of greenery.
"Latias. Possibly one of the world's rarest Pokémon. There are thought to be less than twenty worldwide. Unlike most Pokémon, their behavioral patterns are not well understood. Their habitat-"
A creak rang out. Hastily, he closed the browser. The door opened and a steady stream of students trickled in. They took their places at the rows of tables and computers in front of him.
One minute before the bell, the teacher finally burst into the room, straight, gray hair bobbing and white unbuttoned coat swaying as he made his way to the front of the desk in the front. The man stooped his lean figure to open and dig through the contents a drawer. He pulled out a paper, slapped it down on his desk, and thrust himself into a metal chair.
"What we doing today, Mr. Hayes?" a kid asked from the front.
The teacher squinted at his student. "Work," he barked, wrinkled face taking on the guise of a grouchy old man.
"What kinda work?" the boy persisted.
"Tough work," Mr. Hayes declared.
The student was elbowed by a giggling neighbor.
From behind his computer in the back, he shook his head at the idleness of this conversation while simultaneously unzipping his bag and taking out a pen and a sheet of notebook paper in preparation for the aforementioned work.
A few seconds later, the bell rang, signaling the official start of the class.
Mr. Hayes pushed back in his chair, extended himself to his full height and walked before the white board.
"First of all…any of you who are playing games, or checking your email, or talking to your friends, turn off your monitors. You won't need them today."
A wave of clicks and blacking-out screens followed.
"Thank you. Now…for all of you here, this is the first year: you're fourteen years old and you're looking forward to getting your first Pokémon. When you get it, naturally, you would want to know everything about it: diet, behavior, physical characteristics."
"This next project will prepare you for this learning experience. You will choose a Pokémon. Obviously, this is for research purposes only. I would recommend that you choose one that you like, however. You will be writing a paper, a paper that will be three pages in length…"
Five pages of notes and one and a half hours later, the bell signaled the end of the day.
"Remember, you must have your Pokémon selected by next Friday!" Mr. Hayes boomed over the racket of shuffling papers, backpacks, and feet.
Even before the bell rang, the student in the back had all of his work packed away. When the time came, he simply threw his backpack over his shoulder and strode out of the room long before anyone else. His tennis shoes pounded down the steps until they reached the bottom floor. He turned down one of the narrow halls (now free of biological obstructions, thanks to his ability to be the first one out of class).
He thrust open a metal door and walked out into a cloudy, breezy afternoon. It was refreshing after having been in the confines of the building all day. Across the concrete slab he stood on were more multi-story buildings with more students beginning to pour out.
They would assemble in the middle of the slab. They would shout and laugh about their day. Jokes would be told, whiners would whine, hugs and kisses would be exchanged as a sign of a sort of juvenile love. It was an end of the day social hour.
He avoided it all by taking a path that lead away from the slab and down to the street that bordered the school. Tentatively, the boy looked both ways before crossing the carless avenue. The path continued on the other side. He ducked into a forest that engulfed it.
It was a cave that had a ceiling of low-hanging, light-filtering pine bows and a floor of dark-brown dirt saturated from last night's storm. The floor squished in protest beneath his feet while the pine needles tickled his nose. It was not the most sensually pleasant experience, but he liked it just the same. The forest gave him a strange sense of both solitude and wholeness. In his mind, being part of a group was not the exclusive equivalent to happiness. There were other ways to achieve it.
He emerged from the woods, brushing needles from his orange sweatshirt and pulling filaments of webbing from his hair. Spinarak: that was the reason why his parents didn't want him to travel this way. He had no way of defending himself from the Pokémon. Still, over the past year he had traveled this path every day without even seeing one Spinarak. He didn't think that there was reason to worry.
He stepped out of the bushes and into a ghost town of a neighborhood. Boarded up windows, peeling, faded blue paint, overgrown yards, and weed-filled sidewalks were the highlights of this decrepit place. All of the houses looked the same: one-story and box shaped. It was a housing project started during a population boom. For reasons unknown to him, the boom died out quickly. Hundreds of houses were built and then left to rot away. Now all that was left were their skeletons, groaning and howling with the wind.
Perhaps his parents would not want him in this part of town either. However, as with the forest, he had never had troubles with it before. It seemed perfectly safe.
He stepped off of the sidewalk and treaded the spider-webbed asphalt beneath him. He looked down at the cracks, allowing his mind to reach a sort of focus.
"What should I do for that report?" he thought to himself. "Latias? No, not enough information. Eevee? Too overused. Zigzagoon? Too generic-"
The ear piercing shriek of rubber on asphalt rang out.
He jumped back onto the sidewalk and glanced both ways. Nothing was there, no vehicles could be seen.
Then a tremendous boom echoed throughout the entire neighborhood. It was followed up by an equally loud metallic screech.
He stood there, legs braced and fists clenched, waiting for the next sound. Thirty seconds later and nothing stirred. Perhaps it was at the intersection up ahead. He jogged there, eyes darting from house to house in search of the source. Occasionally, he threw a backwards glance to make sure that no one was following him.
For a second, he thought he could sense something. It was a nagging, kind of forceful emotion. Just as soon as it had come, it disappeared. He discarded it as a figment of his imagination.
As he neared the intersection, he heard voices: male and agitated. By the time he had confirmed this fact, it was too late to turn back. He was now standing on the corner, peering down the adjacent street. What he saw defied belief. A white commercial truck was on its side, lying in the center of the road. The first thing that caught his attention was a hole bordered by twisted fragments of metal. Oddly enough it was on the skyward-facing side of the metal box: the side that probably hadn't touched the pavement at all.
Beside the truck were three figures, all clothed in black. Two of them seemed to be about the same height, the other was a head taller.
"What the heck was that for?" one of the smaller ones whined.
"I-I don't know," the other stammered. "One moment, everything was fine. Then this big headache came…but I don't have it anymore! It doesn't make any sense! It's-"
"Shut up," the taller one commanded in a cold tone.
Both went silent abruptly.
"I don't care why you crashed the truck. All that I care about is that she escaped."
He pointed to the hole in the box.
"If the boss hears that we lost her, he'll be angry and he'll dock our pay. We need to get her back. She's still drugged so she couldn't have gone too far. First, you two-"
The man spun around to face the student who was still a good twenty feet away. The boy cringed.
"That's not good," the leader stated, back still turned to his underlings. "You two, go after him. I'll go after her."
The man turned and darted away from the boy's position, leaving the thugs behind.
The student's face paled, his palms went sweaty, and spots appeared before his eyes. The two reached into their pockets and produced Pokeballs. That was all the galvanization his body needed. Feeling a second, more powerful surge of adrenaline than the last, he turned on his heels and sprinted.
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