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[agelimit]13 years and up, mainly for violence[/agelimit]
Hello. Quite simply, I've decided to start a fanfic. As I've already shown above, I'm planning this to be about PG15, so, if you're not comfortable with that level of violence, then this may not be the best fic for you. Also, please be brutally honest in your reviews; I'm wide open to suggestions any of you may have. Now, for the dialogue key: "This is speech by a human" "<This is speech by a pokémon>" "[This is telepathic speech, either by humans or pokémon]" ---------------------- Table of Contents Prologue Chapter One: Loneliness Chapter Two: Blackmail Chapter Three: Prey Chapter Four: Defeat Chapter Five: Pain Chapter Six: Hell Chapter Seven: True Power Want to receive notification of new chapters via PM? Just PM me and from I'll add you to the mailing list. ---------------------- Prologue Walter Whittaker was your successful politician: witty, well-dressed, and a conscience small enough to lose down a drain. And this is exactly what happened to Hoenn as a result of his regime, and to this day, the few that know his name daren’t speak it in public. He rose to power in a typical election with relative ease: a popular politician, due to him having his name engraved twice on the Hoenn League Champion Cup. President Whittaker also had close connections with Devon, the largest pokémon technology company in the country, which gave him a considerable deal of public support. And now Whittaker had the opportunity to officially announce the release of arguably the most groundbreaking technology in the history of pokémon. The master ball. This purple device had the capability to capture any wild pokémon without fail, although it hadn’t quite perfected the capture of the fabled Legendary Pokémon. Devon was not the first to develop such a device – another company named Silph developed the first. However, after Silph was infiltrated and the prototype was nearly stolen by a large crime syndicate, development by Silph was stopped by the Kanto government, and other companies took it upon themselves to develop the first one for release to the public. However, the master ball was invariably unstable, and as such this goal hadn’t been met. Until now. But Whittaker loathed the idea of Devon releasing a master ball. He saw it as removing all skill from the capture of pokémon, and felt it to be betraying his values as a trainer – as a League Champion! Whittaker was torn between his hermit morals and political killer instinct: does he dare betray the sacred art of capturing pokémon to win the election? Blocking the release of a master ball would have a catastrophic effect: Devon would withdraw support and donations from Whittaker, and then explain to the public why they couldn’t receive master balls in Hoenn. And on the floor would lay the cadaver of what was once his political career. He leant back in his leather chair, straightening his grey hair and fiddling with his bushy moustache, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Devon Representative. His azure eyes widened as his mahogany door crept open. A familiar, young, brunette-haired suit entered the room. The President rose to meet the corporate executive in the middle of the room to shake his hand, a genuine jubilance on the Representative’s face, a feigned smile on the President’s. “Take a seat,” Whittaker gestured to a comfortable leather sofa at the edge of the lavish, alizarin wallpaper, which matched the President’s large suit. Sitting down together, the representative began to jabber excitedly, “Your Excellency, this will be an excellent opportunity to show the cooperation of government and private enterprise, and will be a brilliant booster to the popularity of both your administration and our corporation. What are your thoughts on the time of the announcement?” Whittaker kept his cool and showed his palms, speaking his twisted truth with confident fluency. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Nola, but the Testing Department had a computer issue when testing your product and, I’m sorry to say, sent you a report that may or may not represent the accuracy of your product’s viability for release.” However, the Representative was intelligent, picking up on words like “issue” and phrases like “may or may not” with the accuracy of a Pidgeot. “With all due respect, Your Excellency, that is the type of speech you use when you want to avoid giving a straight answer,” pushed the Representative, his hazel eyes piercing into the President’s mind. “Let me ask you a question, what is the reason that you don’t want master balls to enter the market?” The President averted his gaze for a fraction of a second towards his golden, laminated certificates recognising him as a Hoenn Champion. Rookie mistake. The executive’s eyes flared with immediate understanding when he turned to examine what had momentarily captured the politician’s vision. “Surely you’re not going to let that get in the way?” The President sighed, annoyed at how perceptive the Representative was. He was uncharacteristically losing his cool, speaking inarticulately, and nervously adjusting his ebony tie and pulling at his collar every few seconds. Soon his nervousness turned to anger; the Representative was being irritatingly logical and increasingly condescending. Soon, he could think of nothing to say but, “how dare you try to ruin what has been a great tradition for centuries? Catching pokémon is a divine art, and I will not have it ruined by mundane technology! Not if I have anything to say about it, no! If I hear another word about this master ball from you, expect to have some tough regulations hitting you squarely where it hurts!” Big mistake. The executive left angrily, and Whittaker had just dug his own political grave. Perhaps history would be kind to him? Possibly remember him as the politician who stood up for his values? The Last Catcher, maybe? The Devon board of directors was furious when it learned of the President’s reaction, but didn’t want to start a political war. Instead, they resolved to reconcile, but this wasn’t enough for the Deputy HBD (Head Ball Developer). He found it outrageous that the President should stand in the way of progress, and, in his anger, released some on the black market. There were several eager customers, but one stood out by his large budget. His face was always hooded, and his voice cold and sharp. He bought these master balls, and ordered more. The Deputy HBD had no idea where they were going, and any use of them certainly wasn’t made public. Not yet, anyway. Suddenly, the cold-voiced orders stopped. The Deputy HBD guessed why: he’d managed to reverse engineer the device; decipher its inner workings and learn how to make one himself. He was right. Assassinations followed. Routes, train stations, and airports were seized. Many lost their lives. All at the merciless hands of a group of revolutionaries that called themselves the Seekers, with the power of master balls at their fingertips. The Devon Laboratories were some of the first buildings to be destroyed, so the Seekers had a distinct advantage over everyone else; they could catch any pokémon they desired, while Devon lacked the capability to supply master balls to the general populace. The Seekers gained support from the fearful who wanted protection, and the skilled who desired power. After two years of vicious struggle, the now-deranged Whittaker was overthrown. As was the Republic itself. And this marked the beginning of the viciously tyrannical Hoenn Empire. |
This is very good! I'm 13, but some of these words you have in your story are VERY confusing, because I have never either heard them, or used them! Let's just say I don't have the best vocabulary every invented, but this is'nt bad! Good job!
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I had a feeling, after seeing you name pop up a few times in other people's stories (including mine), that you'd soon appear with a story. :)
Well, so far quite good - an interesting concept to have Master Balls being the decline of a civilisation. The description was good enough not to distract from the importance of the events here to give us the set-up, and I am definately looking forward to seeing how this will develop further. In terms of critique - well, the first half of the story felt more in the present time frame, but after the 'insults' from the Presidant, it started to move more into a summery - a slight change, but maybe would have been better if one of the feelings was slightly more evident throughout... minor and probably opinionated but. Would have also liked some more detailing to who far the world as suddenly sunk, but you may be leaving that for later chapters. Quote:
Nice alliteration there. :) Quote:
Hmm, I don't know if a successful (until now) politicains would have made a 'rookie' mistake - he seemed to have gone down a bit too easily. Also, at the beginning you stated his small conscience, but then he seems to have a large one concerning Master balls and the implications in the meeting and the lead up to it, slight contridiction there. One other thing - not really a mistake, but Master Balls are usually capitalised as an important item, and this fic does imply that they become quite important... but it's an optional thing and really is up to you - some do it, some don't. Still - nice work, generally solid prologue, and I look forward to your next chapte |
I've read a few fanfics, and I'd have to say that this one is the best written. I like the words that you use like "inarticulately" and other descriptive words. Another thing I liked was how you used one sentence paragraphs to emphazise a thought. The plot seems well thought out and appears to be promising.
As for the negatives....I think you should try to use those one sntence paragraphs a little more. I'm looking forward to the rest of the fic. Good job! |
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Yeah, I thought about this, and considered changing it, but decided to leave it as it is. This is because I wanted to show that the glory of pokemon ran so strongly within the blood of Hoenn trainers before the takeover, that it could bring out the consciences of even the seediest politicians and reduce them to raw, irrational emotion even in the face of political death. This will be expanded upon in Chapter One. You'll see why when I've finished writing it. :P [/tension] Quote:
Thanks for the compliment. n_n Quote:
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my critique of your prologue is that it's too short
near the end it seems like you were rushing to get your ideas down and the prologue seems to be a skeleton of what it could be. The plot is there but your insight into the reactions of the president and the tension in the room at the time of the argument quickly jumps into an explosion with no build up. there is no time spent explaining formalities of government officials. It is not explained why this man has such close ties with devon what created these ties and why they are forcing his government to fund, and allow a patent for a peice of technology without the consent of the public. It is however completely logical that a company that is refused this kind of funding will release its product anyway to make money. It is also just as logical that the technology will be bought and used by evil people. its a mixed bag but its a good start to a story. I just wish you spent more time dealing with the personal struggles of the protagonist and the antagonists as well as better explaining the circumstances of the tragedy. Instead of creating a rough outline of everything that happened. i apologize for nitpicking. If I insulted you in any way. |
Oh no, of course not, it's good feedback aimed at improving my story. While I must admit it's must nicer for my ego to receive positive comments, it's far better for my story to receive negative ones. :P
As for your comments on the developments of these characters, I agree fully that they weren't developed in full detail. The reason for this is that they are characters that are important only for the prologue, and I feel that developing many of them would be fruitless to the overall effect of the story. The only character in the prologue that will appear later in the story was intentionally underdeveloped to create a sense of mystery about him. This is a similar issue with the detailing of government formalities - how the Empire operates will be a major focus later in the story, but the operations of the Republic are ultimately irrelevant to the story. However, I will bear in mind your advice about the danger of rushing and will aim to not repeat this mistake in my future chapters. Thanks for the suggestions. ^^ |
I hope i take negative comments as well as you do in the future :)
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I'm excited to see what happens when the story actually begins. The character of Whittaker intrigues me. Everything about this prologue makes me want to read the first chapter.
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As for when the next chapter will be released, I aim to have it done by Sunday (which will be Saturday for many of you). |
It's a good fanfic. I love the hoeon region.
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Your story here is quite awesome, keep it up.
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I am incredibly pleased to announce that Chapter One is ahead of schedule. Once again, please be brutally honest with your comments; I want this story to improve as much as it can. ^^ Also, thanks Taylor5 and The Beast for your comments on the prologue. ^^
--- Chapter One: Loneliness Twenty years. Nobody was entirely sure on the accuracy of this figure, but nobody dared to question it. Nothing was questioned in Hoenn these days, especially the purported length of its reign. Not that it really mattered; time lumbered along slowly and painfully nowadays. Under this regime, there were four classes of people. The first were the Citizens: ordinary people at the mercy of the Empire, which rarely practiced anything remotely similar to mercy. Most of these would perform manual labour or repetitive office duties, and were expected to be “the hands of the Empire”. Then there were Suits. They were fortunate citizens who the Empire had recognised as intelligent, and worked for the upper ranks of the Civil Service. Rather than destroy the intellectuals, like many other tyrannical regimes, the Empire instead made them superior members of society. This gave them a favourable inclination towards the Empire, and allowed it to be run relatively efficiently. The third class, the Guards, were professional pokémon trainers, a rare breed these days. Guards would sadistically enforce the law of the Empire, using their powerful pokémon caught with master balls to injure and kill dissidents, and frighten the innocent into fearful submission. However, the class of people that was undoubtedly the most feared were the Hoods. The Hoods were the elite, and dressed as one would expect the Grim Reaper to. This induced fear and a sense of preternaturalness about them, giving them psychological power over the inhabitants of Hoenn. They didn’t give speeches, nor did they even appear in public. The faceless tyrants. ****** Watson Young was a fifteen year-old teenager, ready to enter the world of work. He stared out the train window, into the faint reflection of his blue eyes, excited. He, along with the others on this train, was about to begin his career with pokémon. It wasn’t how people in other regions would do so: the friendly professor, the complementary items, and the exciting journey ahead. To get a journey like that now in Hoenn was virtually impossible, what with years of paperwork and fierce restrictions on the strength of your pokémon. The last thing the Empire wanted was a group of trainers powerful enough to stand up to the Guards. Thus, the only way one could become a trainer was to become a Guard. The two terms seemed to be interchangeable nowadays. To become a Guard, provided you received reasonable “effort” grades at school (translatable into “level of subservience”), all you had to do was succeed in an interview. This was the Empire’s way of seeing whether the candidates are sadistic enough. He ran his pale, slightly muscular hand through his short, light auburn hair, struggling to remember why he loved pokémon. Since a young age, he had been fascinated by them: their aesthetics, their power, and most curiously of all, he had always suspected that they would have the capacity to be friends with their trainers. This is of course contradicts the Empire’s official position that pokémon are dangerous and should only be handled by trained professionals. People across Hoenn knew this to be true. Before the Empire, and for a few years after its rise to power, Hoenn’s trainers professed incredible passion for pokémon. Passion turned to respect from a distance. Respect from a distance became mild caution. Mild caution mutated into fear. All because the grip of terror that the Empire had over the Citizens was so powerful, that they found themselves truly changing their beliefs. Fear bred fear. Looking down at his grey, uniform dogi, he thought about what kind of pokémon he’d like. He didn’t know how much choice he’d have; choices weren’t abundant in the Empire’s regime. He couldn’t help but dream, though, of owning a growlithe. Fiercely loyal, powerful, agile: the perfect pokémon. His uniform was temporary; as soon as he qualified to become a guard, he would receive an intimidating armour that would drown passing citizens in fear. But for now, this monotone uniform was to instill a sense of conformity within him, and the easiness of penetration was to allow the qualified Guards' strikes to him to cause maximum pain. All in all, it was to remind him that he wasn't a Guard yet; still a lowly Citizen. Nothing now to do but rest. ****** Woken from their slumber, the future Guards of Hoenn were being ushered out of the train and into their new academy. Six weeks of rigorous training, simply to prepare their pokémon to become vicious killers. He gazed upon the academy. It was a dominating, arsenic fortress, dominating over the oddly cold desert, and the air seemed to be tinted a light grey, which matched the recruits’ uniforms. The sand was dark and the skies were shrouded in menacing clouds, with nothing visible for miles upon miles: an endless, lonely crepuscule. Two Guards directed the group of about a hundred inside. They were in full Guard uniform: a dark metal armour with their faces masked behind thinly-spaced flexible metal rods running horizontally past their faces. Master balls were immediately visible at their waists, and on their chests they bore the Crest of the Empire: a battle-scarred zangoose standing over a fainted seviper. The room the cadets entered was bare: black marble walls and black marble floors, intensely lit by lights from an invisibly high ceiling. Silent Guards lined the walls of this circular atrium. Watson stared across the room with a silent contempt for how pointlessly large this room was; he despised things without reason. This, of course, got him beaten in his early years at school: the authorities didn’t like being asked questions. He still had the scar on his thigh from the deep gash a malicious Guard’s scyther had inflicted on him. From that moment on, he learned that questions are best thought, not asked. One would expect a speech before the trainers were issued their pokémon, but the Empire officials never gave speeches. Nobody knew exactly why, but the unspoken general consensus was that the Empire wanted to shroud itself in mystery. The greatest fear, after all, is the fear of the unknown. Instead, the cadets were ushered into single file by a Guard standing in the middle of the room, with Watson at the front: the place he felt most comfortable. The Guard in the middle gave a brief instruction. “Cadets! I will give you your houndour, and you will walk directly forward. Then, you will enter the dormitory, take the nearest bed, and unpack.” He then gave a sharp gesture to Watson to move forward. The Guard held a small black device in his hand that materialised a master ball, containing Watson’s standard issue houndour. Watson swiftly swiped this ball with an almost greedy expression crossing his face, and rapidly proceeded to the dormitory. ****** Everybody was in the ebony marble dormitory, performing various actions: some reading books, others intimately looking at photos of their loved ones, and some consulting with their new weapons. The light noise was abruptly interrupted by a loud voice coming from an intercom at the end of the room. “Lights out in ten minutes!” Watson, staring up at the ceiling, decided that he’d like to observe his new pokémon – get a feel for it. He was one of the few that hadn’t already. It was quite odd; Watson had wanted his first pokémon more than anything, and now that he had it, he was fearful of opening it. His intuition had advised him throughout his life, against all his observations of the Guards, that he’d fight side by side with his pokémon, a true companion. Something that he’d only ever had once before in his life. His intuition had retracted this position. He twisted the ball in his hands, and made a split-second decision, clicking the button at the centre to release his pokémon. It was a small, black canine that was intimidating for its size. It had skeleton-like protrusions from its fur, and a fiery orange belly. Probably the perfect pokémon for a ruthless agent of a dictatorial regime. Barking its name once, it looked straight into Watson’s eyes. a determined look flaring in them. Watson lulled his head to the side, like a curious child. What could he say to this pokémon? He couldn’t appear weak, but he didn’t want to seem abusive. “Hello, there houndour,” Watson said in an unsure tone. “<Is that all you have to say?>” Watson squinted at the Houndour, as if the act would help him understand what it had just said. A flicker of amusement became apparent for a second in his pokémon’s eyes. This houndour understood that Watson didn’t understand. “You’ll know what it’s saying when you train with it more,” a pompous voice lectured. A short, black-haired girl sauntered up to Watson with her Houndour. Watson stared into her russet eyes, trying to decipher her intentions. Watson was naturally suspicious of others: was she trying to help him, or intimidate him with her knowledge? He instinctively brought his hands in front of his body, slowly, his right fist held in his left hand. “Are you going to respond? A simple ‘thanks for the tip’ will suffice, you know,” she explained, thrusting the right of her forehead slightly forward. Watson spoke his words with caution, “How long will it take?” Shrugging, she said, “Depends on the trainer and the pokémon. You’d better hope it will be quick, because your houndour won’t be much of a fighter if you can’t understand each other.” He immediately took a disliking to her: she was one of them. He couldn’t expect much more, though – after all, he was struck many times for even suggesting that pokémon could be more than battlers. The houndours, meanwhile, were having their own conversation. Or, they were for about ten seconds, after which time they began playfully tussling on the floor. The girl noticed this, and suggested a pokémon battle. “I don’t think the Guards would be happy with us battling,” Watson noted. “You’re afraid of the Guards?” the girl challenged. She’d struck a raw nerve. Watson was simply terrified by the Guards. He never used to be; he had an air of defiance about him as a young child. But the taunting of the Guard with the scyther, the one that slashed his thigh open… he would never be the same again. He constantly questioned, then: why did he wish to become that which he feared? “If you’re afraid, then,” the girl shrugged, and turned to leave, assuming herself the victor by default. Watson wasn’t going to let himself be defeated. Not this time. She had lectured him, played on his fear, and then demeaned him, in front of several people that were watching their conversation from the moment the word “battle” was mentioned. He wasn’t going to be considered weak. His anger channeled into his right arm, and he clenched his fist, his knuckles immediately whitening. And then, he rapidly released it into her face. She fell, a look of horror, disgust, and surprise etched into every detail in her face. He had hit a girl. Violently. And he stood there, contemplating what he had done in that second of raw anger. And felt no remorse. The entire room, including his own houndour, looked at him with surprise on their respective faces; a cold shock hanging in the air. Some gestured angrily, looking as if they were about to repeat Watson’s action on him. Retribution for his crime. “Five minutes until lights out!” Watson returned his houndour to its ball and climbed into his bed, not bothering to change into his pyjamas. Once again, he would be the outcast. Once again, others would despise him. Loneliness. |
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Anyway- Chapter one was better than the Prologue...much better. It seems that you've put a lot of thought into the plot, so far. I also liked how you gave little bits of info on Watson's past. I see that you're using the one line paragraphs pretty often. I really like that because it puts more emphasis on an important idea or something like that. One thing that didn't make sense to me was that from when Watson first took out his Houndour to when he punched the girl(that was reallyunexpected(unexpected is good)) was 15 minutes. might want to fix that - but, it doesn't matter much. Great job!!! |
Thanks for your comments, Mewtwo42. ^^
I have a question. How well do you think I captured the emotions of everybody at that punch? That was an incredibly telling detail of Watson's character that I wanted to show well. I probably sound a bit insecure saying this (and I don't mean to), but, did I do well in that part? And I've reduced the figure a bit. :P |
I believe that you'd showed it pretty well. If there's one thing I learned from English class this year, it's that a good storyteller always touches the readers' emotions in some way. I believe some emotion was invoked with that punch. I'm not really sure what it was, but I think it added to the story's depth pretty well.
btw: I was expecting a Pokemon battle when the girl mentioned it. |
So was I (when I was writing it). But then I decided on this, because (a) it was unexpected, (b) it told a lot about the semi-protagonist, and (c) it'll add some real emotion in their first battle.
(b) being the most important, because I've fleshed out Watson as a character really well in my head, and this was the perfect opportunity to show some of him. |
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You just kind of gave away parts of some of the chapters to come. What sort of character is Watson? because it seems like the Empire's regime has hardened him up a bit. He punched someone without thinking twice(it was a girl, too.(If a girl is reading this - I didn't mean to offend you if you were.)). |
In an academy that trains pokemon (or, more accurately, trains people to use pokemon), every cadet will face every other cadet at least once in a battle to get their own pokemon stronger, as you'd expect of such an institution. So you're right, it is inevitable. While I'm definitely not going to mention every single battle, the one between him and the as-of-yet unnamed girl will be focused on for obvious reasons.
As to your question of the character of Watson - you'll have to wait and see. ;D |
Nice work, again. A good chapter, and as this IS the more important setting and all, it was well established. Pacing was alright, and you did well in establishing the character of Watson as well. Overall I also agree that this felt better then a prologue - porbably the atmosphere and pacing accounted for some of this.
Houndour, eh? Interesting Pokemon to be given out to Guards, feel it's a good choice. And not too far from the mark of a Growlithe as well. Although one wonders how many Houndour they have to issue to soon-to-be Guards... hmm. With the punch - although good and unexpected, you half-gave it away eariler: Quote:
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Sounds just a bit hasty, the second part - maybe 'nor did they even appear in public'. Quote:
Heh, liked this sentence. Good somewhat-sarcastic way of keeping up the 'doom and gloom' atmosphere. Quote:
I rather liked that image - good notion for a crest for an evil Empire there. :) Quote:
Erm, not enitrely sure, but pretty sure that the first word after the quotation mark should be capitalised (and there another sentence after this as well). Might need some clarification.... somewhat debatable but leaning towards the capitalisation. Quote:
'Dogi' didn't quite work for me... meh. Does seem a tad unnesserary though. Rather good though - nice sentence structure, with the occassional separated sentence - works to good effect and the atmosphere, again, was quite convincing. Looking forward to more. |
Thanks for the comments, bobandbill. ^_^
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You picked it up. :D I like to leave hints in my story. Originally, I said something about him shuffling back, but changed it and decided to see if anyone would notice. I've dropped a few other subtle hints throughout both this chapter and the prologue as well. ;D (And a few red herrings) Quote:
Good point. I'll edit this. Quote:
Really? In my experience it would start with a non-capitalised letter. o.o; Quote:
I actually quite liked it: it gave a good mix of drab same-colour and sense of fighting. Why didn't you like it? |
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Meh, just doesn't quite fit in - I don't really think that a dogi (which is a sort of 'gi', or uniform for martial arts generall) really quite suits the uniform for guards, and considering the Pokemon world. This one is changed though, and it is more an 'opinion' thing. EDIT: Saw sig - Beta reader? Am interested... |
I see what you mean, now. It's just a misunderstanding; that's the uniform for cadets, not the qualified Guards; the cadets don't get full uniform yet. Here's the description of the qualified Guard uniform:
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I agree with bobandbill. The Dogi uniform doesn't do much for me. If it's a temporary thing, it's fine but it just seems out of place in pokemon. It's hard to imagine a pokemon trainer wearing a gi with a pokeball belt.
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Yeah, it's definitely just a temporary thing; qualified Guard uniform is too expensive for Cadets, and still leaves them exposed to attacks from qualified Guards. Should I make this more obvious?
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I've added an explanatory paragraph about why he receives such a uniform as a cadet, directly after the paragraph where his uniform is mentioned.
EDIT: w00t, over three hundred views. :D Thanks to all my readers and reviewers; I appreciate your interest. ^___^ |
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I'm looking forward to the rest - keep at it!! :) |
This is really interesting. At first I was a bit put-off by the title (although in hindsight I'm not exactly sure why... Maybe I thought it sounded slightly cliche? Which it's not), but now I can't wait for what happens next.
For that non-capitalised and capitalised thing, I thing that if it's the first time they speak in the sentence, then it's capitalised and if it's the second time in the same sentence, it's not... I'll give you an example because my explanations are usually very confusing. Capitalised: "She gasped as blood welled from the cut on her hand, exclaiming, 'Ouch, that hurts.'" Not capitalised: "'Ouch,' She gasped as blood welled from the cut on her hand before exclaiming; 'that hurts.'" At least, I think that's the difference. It's what I do, at any rate. |
I've looked it up, and Wikipedia seems to agree with Sweet_Dreams and bobandbill. So, I'll correct those problems. xD;
And thanks to Mewtwo42 and Sweet_Dreams for the compliments. Sweet_Dreams, yeah, the title is a bit bland. I fully expect to change it by the end of the time I've finished my fic, but for now, I think that, since the Empire is such an important part of the fic, that is the best title to represent it so far. Titles are always something that I like to do last. :P |
Firstly, I would like to thank bobandbill for BETAing this chapter, which was a really useful report. ^_^
Chapter Two: Blackmail First class of the day. Amply spaced across a large training room, a hundred students eagerly stood. Quite typically, four black marble walls imposed themselves on the room, but the floors were covered in blood red sponge mats, with the colours unevenly distributed. Was it possible that the mats were once not this colour? Despite this possibility hanging over the cadets, almost all of them looked excited in their own way; some had arrogant smiles, others nervously looked around the room. A short, bruised girl by the name of Kayla Oxford, on the other hand, had her own way of showing her determination. Glaring into the back of the head of her assaulter. One of the Guards had inquired about her bruise earlier, without sympathy in his voice; merely the sadistic desire to punish the offender. Kayla had replied that she tripped and fell, to which the Guard chuckled unkindly, calling her an idiot. Many male cadets had approached this attractive girl and offered to defend her honour by breaking a few of Watson’s bones. She declined fiercely; she wasn’t about to become the damsel in distress who needed saving. One foolish cadet didn’t want to take no for an answer. Watson, being quite powerful, had this future Guard pinned against the wall, immobile, in seconds. So, the class resorted to the tactics of ostracisation, which Watson was all too familiar with. “Settle down,” commanded an entering voice. A gruff, muscular man with a mane of greying black hair entered the room. He was a fully qualified guard, yet wore a black dogi, to associate himself with his students. His dark brown eyes flared with a deep loathing at the cadets; they were still, after all, Citizens. Watson wasn’t sure whether he’d look more intimidating with the Guard’s armor on or off. He strutted powerfully towards the front of the class, and issued another order, “Release your pokémon.” The opening of master balls sounded and a hundred houndour emerged, all looking fierce, ready to battle. One houndour in particular seemed more bloodthirsty than the rest. Watson’s houndour, Amicus, after witnessing the events of the previous night, seemed to have a newfound respect for his trainer; Watson had established himself as the alpha male between the two. Watson had always sought loyalty from pokémon, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his wish had been ill-received. “And this, cadets, is what you’re aiming for,” gloated the instructor, releasing from his master ball a houndoom. It had a fierce hatred in its eyes that matched its master’s, with demonic horns protruding from its head; a symbol of power. It was significantly larger than the houndour, yet still possessed the intimidating black fur, vicious teeth, and a vaguely exoskeletal protrusions. The ultimate predator. The two hundred beings in the class gazed in wonder at this magnificent creature, knowing what the reward would be should they succeed. The fantasy of the houndour had passed; they were now mere puppies; weapons for the weak. “Now, everyone get a partner and prepare to faint, and faint only. If you kill the opponent’s houndour, you’ll be sent to Mt. Ember for vandalism of Empire property,” sneered their teacher, revealing his yellow teeth. Mt. Ember prison. The most feared place in the Hoenn region. Every criminal, regardless of the level of their crime, would be sent to this gargantuan complex. The conditions were terrible: the fierce climate, the most sadistic Guards in the region, and, most horribly of all, complete isolation from friends and family. Nobody was entirely sure what was there, but silent rumours of torture chambers had been passed around. The Guards made no effort to quash such speculation. After all, it was they who started them, and not untruthfully. Kayla moved with swift determination towards Watson, piercing those who would try to steal her prey with her furious eyes. Watson doused her fiery glare with his cold, blue eyes, taunting, “Come back for another one?” “We’ll see who’s laughing when I humiliate you in front of everyone.” More social threats. Watson was surprised: she was either very perceptive or incredibly oblivious. He had shown no signs of caring about his recent excommunication from the social hierarchy of the cadets, so why should humiliation harm him? On the other hand, maybe she had detected his secret, insecure need to be seen as powerful by others, to be feared? “Ready your pokémon! On my mark! Three, two, one, fight!” “Fortis, launch into his neck!” Kayla’s order was the first in the class, but Watson was quick to respond. “Amicus, fall to the side!” Amicus couldn’t see what Watson was trying to do, but obeyed him unhesitatingly. Fortis, in its haste, missed the now falling houndour’s neck and tripped over its body, flipping halfway into the air and landing on its back. “Amicus, leer!” Amicus’s eyes became an angry red, locking Fortis in a trance. Fortis could now not hear the desperate, shrill screams of her master; she simply continued to lie on her back. She didn’t even hear the attacking order of the enemy trainer: before she knew it, she had been struck by the tough head of Amicus, and had been knocked even further across the room. Kayla, in a cool shrillness, cried, “Fortis, rip into its leg!” The female houndour attacked the male one’s closest leg, and pulled it across the floor, vigorously shaking its head. Under Watson’s orders, Amicus bit back, but the counterattack only served to release, not to cause any damage. The two houndour stood, furious and weak. Fortis was unspeakably tired and hurt from being thrown across the room, and Amicus had a wounded leg. It was now a battle of endurance: if either went forward to attack, they would collapse in pain, so they stood weakly, panting, eyes locked in fierce contact. It was a magnificent sight: all other houndour in the room had now either one win or one loss. However, these two stood strong against those resting, determined to win. Fortis faltered. Amicus leaned forward in anticipation. Fortis stubbornly regained its stance, growling to show that it was not defeated. And finally, one fell, utterly defeated. It was obviously the second strongest houndour in the room, but with one loss, it would be considered to be in the bottom half in terms of strength. One of the weak ones. Two cries were released: one gleeful, the other disheartened. As Watson rushed forward to collect his defeated soldier, he couldn’t help but smile at its courage and determination. Despite the loss, he was proud of his pokémon. He was undoubtedly disappointed in himself, yet this emotion was drowned by his pride. ****** Watson had suffered many taunts that day after his morning loss. This is, of course, despite the fact that Amicus and himself together had won every other battle throughout class that day, and the most prominent jeerers were those who he defeated. Either way, his loss to Kayla now left him, in the eyes of others, weak. He pondered about how he thought about it. He’d always assume he’d be angry at the pokémon should he lose: after all, it’s the pokémon doing the battling, not him. Yet, this did not match his true emotions. He instead felt immensely disappointed in himself, for not reacting quick enough, not predicting his opponent’s next move, not maximizing Amicus’s potential. He only felt pride and gratitude for the fearless houndour that had unquestionably obeyed his orders for his master’s ends. Watson lay on his bed with his houndour on his chest, trying to understand his various repetitions of its own name. It was not as he expected: when he tried to learn patterns in their speech, he was unsuccessful. There seemed to be no grammar to their language, at least by his standards. It was when Watson stopped trying to decipher the language, and just listened aimlessly, that he understood. He chatted with Amicus about battle strategy, sometimes not understanding huge blocks of what his pokémon said, but he didn’t care; at least they were communicating. “When a pokémon charges at you, drop low and attack their leg.” “<With my teeth or claws? Teeth give me the advantage of strength and grip, but … more maneuvering capabilities.>” “Which do you find easier?” “<Claws, usually. I often find it hard to retain a grip. However, you need to be my eyes when I’m doing this, and…>” And so they jabbered, Amicus understanding Watson’s speech fluently, while Watson only having a fragmented knowledge of what his houndour was saying. And Watson, for the first time in years, was finding himself to be experiencing a foreign emotion. An emotion that was so odd, yet seemed so obvious and natural. Happiness. ****** A lone palace stood strong against the isolated forest, darkened by the night. It was a fortress, surrounded by Guards and all kinds of vicious, bloodthirsty pokémon circling the black, towering, titanium fence. In day, it was just as gloomy as it was at night: a violent violet, dark and deadly. As one would expect, its fortress exterior has a lavish interior, the most lavish in the entire Empire. For this palace housed a Hood, the most powerful and terrible of all. The Emperor of Hoenn. This particular Hood had recently been called into a large room. Its walls were a beautiful crystal blue, and its floor was emerald green. Its only spoiling factor was that it had no windows. No room in the residence of any Hood did. Two Guards stood, holding a wounded middle-age man between them, each unkindly clutching an arm. He had scraggly, greying brunette hair, and a suit that may once have been nice. Not now, though: it was now covered in dirt and torn in various places. His head sagged down, as he did not want to look into the empty void of that hood. Not again. The Emperor telepathically induced the emotion of job satisfaction in the Guards’ heads. A signal for them to leave. What he had to say was far too important for them to hear. The Hood tilted his head to look down at this pathetic figure. This man once had a bright future; a successful career awaiting. Unfortunately for him, he threw it away. He tossed this happy, successful life off a cliff to fulfill one thing. His principles. Such a pathetic concept. The pathetic man involuntarily lifted his head – try as he might, he could not resist telekinesis this powerful. His hazel eyes looked into the dark void, fearful, once again. The Emperor began to communicate telepathically. “[You’ve caused me a lot of trouble. Your society has been looking for you.]” The victim enragedly protested, “Society hasn't been looking for me! You have! You and your lackies! How dare you equate the Empire with society? This isn't a society! It's a mass of terrified people living under a shroud of secrecy and oppression, a pain that you inflicted upon them!” “[Was it me, or was it you?]” “How was I to know that this would happen!?” “[You placed those master balls on the black market, Mr. Eckleberry. Surely you expected malicious use?]” “Not like this. I thought maybe you worked for Team Aqua or Magma, at worst,” whispered Eckleberry. He was desperate, even in the face of such a powerful adversary, to maintain his innocence. A surge of pain was telepathically induced by the Emperor through the former Deputy Head Ball Developer of Devon. A punishment for his naïveity. Eckleberry rolled on the ground for a few seconds, attempting to regain his sense of existence. Eventually, he spluttered, “Why don’t you just kill me?” “[I have no intention of doing that. But, I did call you here for a reason. I take it you don’t recognise the Empire as having the right to rule?]” Was this some kind of trap, so this villain would have an excuse to psychically induce more pain in him? He chose not to answer. The Emperor coupled his telepathic message with a sense of mockery. “[If you refuse to answer, I’ll answer for you: you don’t. You still think the Republic should govern, correct? Well, I recall a Republican law stating that, as a consumer, I have the right not to receive faulty goods.]” What was the Emperor talking about? “[And yet, I’m unhappy with these master balls.]” “What?” “[They’re good, but not perfect. I require a much more powerful product.]” “The master ball is the most powerful thing possible! There is nothing with it you can’t catch," said Eckleberry with a tone of finality. “[Lies.]” The poor man, who was still groveling on the ground, received a further jolt of pain. It was truly agonising, as if his entire body had simply became a wound, a giant reservoir for all the physical pain in the world. “[There are a set of pokémon that it can’t catch. The Fabled Ones. The Legendary Pokémon.]” It suddenly dawned on Bjorn Eckleberry what this man was trying to say. He was horrified: legendary pokémon could quash the rebellion once and for all. He was, of course, far too craven to join the rebellion, but he was a strong sideline supporter of it. “[Yes, the rebellion will be quashed,]” the Emperor started, examining Bjorn’s thoughts. “[However, it will allow me to do something much more.]” Bjorn's eyes widened fearfully, and he managed to whimper out a single word: “What?” “[I shan’t reveal anything more than I have to.]” The destruction of the rebellion would be a useful side effect of gaining the Legendary Pokémon, but that wasn’t all. He had a far more diabolical plan in his mind, which only the upper echelon of Hoods knew about. The Hoenn Empire was planning to expand its borders. “[As I said before, Mr. Eckleberry, I have no intention of killing you. I need you to create for me a master ball that has the capability to capture the Legendary Pokémon. Regardless of whether you comply, you will be sent to prison. The variable, of course, is where. “[If you help me, your prison will be a luxurious mansion with a sizable budget. You will live with the luxury of an average Hood, save the ability to exit the house. On the other hand, you can be sent to the underground sector of Mt. Ember prison. And I will personally tell the Guards there that I will find favour with those who show the most schadenfreude with you.]” Mt. Ember prison was terrible. Everyone knew this. But the underground sector was reserved for the most loathed enemies of the Empire. One of the few things the Empire did in public was show imprisonment. And they made extra care to make imprisonment in the underground sector big news. The situation was ironically similar to that of twenty years ago. He could live a life of luxury and betray his conscience, or live a life of hardship but keep his conscience clear. He stared desperately into the darkness of the Emperor’s hood, contemplating his past and future. The latter was riding on this one ultimatum that the most powerful man in Hoenn had provided. Blackmail. |
Chapter 2!! I gotta read this......
Okay done. - I thought chapter 2 was written very well with a couple of problems. there is no description to the dialogue, which doesn't paint the smoothest picture in a reader's head. Add some description to the dialogue: EX. ["Look who's acting so tough!" the toughest looking Gaurd with a jagged scar across his right brow sneered.] Also the sentence Quote:
Other than those problems, I really liked it. the characters and plot line are well developed and keep me wanting more. I'll be waiting for more chapters! ~ :) |
OK, the forum didn't properly post my last message, so let's try again.
I've reduced the ambiguity of the statement and made it more significant to the story. Bjorn believes he's about to die (as shown by the "why don't you just kill me" statement), and so at this point is totally honest about his opinion of the Empire, as someone who's been hiding from the Empire; not under their control. Is this representative of the general populace's opinions? You decide. :P I've also added some outside comments to the dialogue to show some emotion, also as you suggested. Thanks for the review, Mewtwo42. ^^ |
This is great. Wonderful. Brilliant. Will he or won't he? Hmm. I'm not sure whether I want him to try and improve the Master ball or not.
Let's see... right now, I'm not in the mood to try and pick out small mistakes, and so I shall just call the post fantastic and leave it at that. Trust me, it is. Please, please, please keep posting! I have had too many instances on another site where the author only posts one or two parts and leaves it at that. It's excruciating, I'll have you know. |
Thanks for the compliment, Sweet_Dreams. ^_^ I assume your plea for me not to stop writing was preemptive: I have absolutely no intention of ending this prematurely, and I hope I haven't been giving off signals to suggest such a thing.
That being said, updates will be a little slow because I have mid-year exams this week. |
I think this may be the best fanfic I've read yet, everything's just done perfectly! I think what I admire most is how you weren't afraid to make a flawed and complex protagonist. Anyone can write about a typical hero who does nothing wrong, but it takes real talent to make a lead character who has these kinds of problems and still is likable. Also, you show hints of a really strong plot behind the characters, I can't wait to see how it gets fleshed out! Another thing I liked was the extensive vocabulary, the usage of Schadenfreude sent a chill up my spine.
I'm not sure if this was intentional, but "Walter Whittaker" is a nice homage to The Russians are Coming! One thing that I would change (I wouldn't comment without at least a bit of advice) is the phrase "ill-gotten" in "but he couldn’t help but wonder if his wish had been ill-gotten." I may just be being nit-picky, but it sounds awkward to me. I think "ill-received" might be the phrase you were thinking of. Everything else, however, is gold! You're really breaking the norm, here; keep it up! |
Wow - that means a lot to me, icomeanon6 (I made sure I got it right this time XD;). That homage was definitely unintentional, but hey, if it works, it's great. :D
As for Watson, I'm glad you said that, as it means I must be doing well to give Watson the effect I wanted. You should hopefully notice a similar idea with the antagonists when I decide to develop them, as well (as in, not just simple destroy all good guys while having no emotion villains). On reflection, I think you're correct, "ill-received" does work better. I'll change it. |
A big thanks to bobandbill for BETAing this chapter. ^_^
--- Chapter Three: Prey Two weeks. Two long weeks of training: grueling battle after grueling battle, with a touch of theory. The theory classes consisted of a myriad of useful topics, including but certainly not limited to: why Citizens are inferior, the numerous good deeds and humanitarian efforts of the Empire, and what best to say when giving thanks to the Hoods before eating a meal. Standard stuff really. Today, there would be no classes. Instead, the cadets had an exam. According to their long-range attack instructor, it “will expose the grimer: those of you pathetic enough to have just oozed past the Guard interview will be exposed as the weaklings you are.” Over the two weeks, a far more definite hierarchy among the cadets had been established, centered around the two most proficient students in the class. The cadets were clearly divided in support: how one side would jeer when the leader of the opposing pack would lose. The leaders were, unsurprisingly, Watson and Kayla. They handled their positions differently. Watson had an air of anger and strength constantly hanging around him, and even his most loyal supporters kept their distance. He pretended to not care about his position, but secretly, he was pleased. They feared him. To Watson, fear was respect: he’d make the perfect Hood. But, for some reason unbeknownst to him, he didn’t feel this principle should extend to pokémon. A philosophy that many in the Hoenn Empire would consider insane. Kayla, on the other hand, took every opportunity to closely surround herself with friends. She enjoyed amazing them with her extensive knowledge of pokémon and taking every opportunity to humiliate her rival. Kayla was an interesting person: she was incredibly intelligent, and, out of school, could have easily applied for a reasonably high-ranking Suit. But instead, she wanted to prove to everyone that she was more than just an intellectual. She was a warrior. And now, for the first time since they’d been here, the future Guards were being called outside. Cold, damp, caliginous: dark clouds smothered the sky, threatening to fall upon this sandy flatland. If depression had a house, it would be built somewhere here in this desert. As Watson confidently strode out of the building, he laid his eyes upon a sight that evoked genuine sympathy within him. Cold, dark grey cages were stacked upon each other, containing many different kinds of pokémon. All looked as if their best friend had died. Or, as Watson guessed, and quite accurately, they had been violently taken from their families. Each pokémon had a small, black ring around one of their appendages. A symbol of slavery. More filed out, including Kayla and her friends. None expressed sympathy; only excitement. Kayla, surrounded by about five people, sauntered up to the lone Watson. “Quite barbaric, locking them in cages, isn’t it?” Watson looked at her oddly. She didn’t seem to care about pokémon before – what was she trying to say? “It’s a bit like punching someone when they’re turning to walk away,” Kayla sneered. Her bruise had healed, but she certainly hadn’t forgotten the incident. “But you didn’t find that barbaric, did you? And yet, you looked so horrified when you saw these in cages!” Damn, she was good. Was there anything she didn’t notice? And once again, she had demonstrated that she still had a callousness towards pokémon that Watson so loathed. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve noted something incorrectly,” smiled Watson arrogantly. “I recall from our last battle: Fortis, move to the left! Wait no, the right! Bravo.” Kayla returned his smile with a feigned kindness and spoke pompously, “If you possess the unfortunate disposition whereby you are unable to fully comprehend the human capacity to verbally utter misnomers at irregular intervals that do not completely, fully, and thoroughly epitomise that person’s complete ability, and, furthermore, that capacity’s tendency to enact itself when it is in a state of undesirability, especially when time is scarce in general and not economic terms, whereby the length of judgment must be sizably decreased, then you, good sir, are a complete and utter idiot.” Nobody listening could understand the point that she was trying to convey, except of course for the last part, which was purposefully succinct. Kayla, staring at Watson’s dumbstruck face, added with an air of satisfaction, “I rest my case.” Watson was silently furious: he was made to look like a fool. Who would fear him now? Their battle instructor strode past the huddle of a hundred students, his mane of hair swishing powerfully in the breeze that his walk created. He was, as Kayla liked to note, the instructor when she won her first battle against Watson. He started talking in his usual gruff voice, “Behind me, eighty pokémon sit in cages. However, there are one hundred and three of you. Your challenge today is to catch a pokémon. The twenty-three of you that fail to do so will be sent on the train back home.” At this statement, there were anxious mutters around the crowd. The metaphorical grimer were restless. The instructor angrily yelled, “Silence! There is something else you must know. This morning, you were each given a special kind of master ball, called a pokéball. This is what you must catch your pokémon in. It will only capture a weakened pokémon, so you must use the attacking skills you’ve learnt to hunt down these pokémon.” One student, who had been noted for asking a lot of questions (hence his multiple bruises), raised his hand. “Sir, somebody told me that pokéballs were used in the Pre-Empire period.” The instructor grimaced menacingly at this student: how many times must he be struck until he understands that questions are not tolerated? Nevertheless, it was his responsibility of the instructor to correct this foolish cadet’s mistake. “Whoever told you that was either a liar or insurmountably stupid. The Pre-Empire period, as you should have learned in school, was a time where pokémon were savage and untamed. They would openly attack humans without provocation and many would fall dead at their hands. Humans had no tools to tame these wild monsters. “That, of course, was where His Imperial Majesty comes into it. He invented the master ball so we could defend ourselves against pokémon. The pokéball is merely a type of this with decreased power so we can test your training ability.” The two star pupils both knew this story, and had their suspicions about its veracity, which they daren’t voice. Watson could not accept that pokémon openly attacked humans without provocation. He knew this was completely illogical, but he felt a loyalty to pokémon that ran strong within his veins. Kayla, on the other hand, took a slightly more logical approach. She had deduced, unlike most of the population, that there was a world outside of the Empire. She found it hard to believe that her kind Emperor would leave the outside world to suffer at the hands of vicious beasts. There must be a civilisation out there somewhere that has already discovered some coping mechanism. It was probably evil, of course – why else would the Guards deny access to it? But that was besides the point: if others had a coping mechanism, so should have Hoenn in the Pre-Empire period. It was only twenty years ago. Society must have existed: several metropolises spanning an entire Empire couldn’t have been built in just twenty years. There must have been civilisation before the Empire. These questioning thoughts were rare among Hoenn. People had been disallowed from having pokémon for so long that these creatures were now feared immensely: "demons" and "fiends", they were often described. The Hoods, despite their constant use of pokémon as tools of fear against the Citizens, were seen as saviours: the people who brought civilisation to the savage Pre-Empire period. It was widely recognised in other regions to be the equivalent of a cult. “Hold still, cadets, and choose your prey.” Watson scanned the pokémon, and laid eyes on one that brought back familiar memories, and caused the scar on his thigh to tingle with unwelcome nostalgia. Scyther. It was a sizable, light green insect with ferocious blades, which were being held up defensively in fear behind the cold, metal bars. Its pale wings were curved uncomfortably to fit inside the small cage: a pathetic sight. Watson smirked unkindly, but then withdrew this facial expression immediately. He’d smiled at one scyther’s misery because another had caused him pain. Was that how he truly felt? A tinge of shame danced on the edge of his mind. His musing was abruptly interrupted as the top layer of cages noisily and electronically unfolded: most of their former inhabitants shot off in all directions. And off went Watson’s future scyther. Or so Watson hoped. Their battle instructor then pushed the black remote in his hand that he must have pulled out earlier again. The second layer of cages unfolded, and once again, pokémon fled from their prisons. One dazed teddiursa fled in the wrong direction: toward the students. Laughing, one of the instructors on the side pointed what looked like a flashlight at the small, ochre bear’s leg tag. It let out a surreal howl of pain and galloped in the opposite direction. Watson was horrified, but many cadets joined in with the teacher’s cruel laugh. The instructor joked jovially, “That’ll be an easy one to catch now.” Watson was now visibly angry. His lips tightened and his fists clenched. He had to exercise all his energy in restraining himself from attacking this cruel man, this teacher of lies. With a click of a button, the pokémon in the bottom layer of cages were released, and allowed a chance at escaping from their future captors. “Three,” the battle instructor started, and casual looks of anticipation were exchanged. “Two,” he continued: a thick tension was evident among the students. “One,” he finished, watching students with their pokéballs gripped tightly in their hands, leaning forward excitedly. “Go!” About a hundred desperate cadets competitively leapt in all directions, all at top speed, all with a greedy determination on their respective faces. Few cared which pokémon they caught – as long as they caught one, they’d feel accomplished. Watson was far more picky and held himself to a much higher standard. He wanted his pokémon to be able to shatter the competition. And above all, he desired more than anything else, to conquer that which had once conquered him. He wanted the scyther. There was a trailing stalker though, someone who moved with surprising ability for someone of such short stature. Kayla. She was taking every chance now to prove that she was better than Watson. And catching his pokémon was exactly the kind of victory she had in mind. After running for about two minutes, he spotted the thing, lying helplessly in the sand. It certainly didn’t belong in a desert. Kayla was about half a minute behind; he needed to take this opportunity. Watson anticipatively shouted as he released his houndour, “Amicus, ember!” Amicus opened its mouth to release a short burst of orange flame. Scyther reacted quickly and attempted to take flight, but stumbled midair and fell to the ground again, skidding in the cool, grainy sand. “Use smog, Amicus!” Amicus opened its mouth once again to release an eerie purple gas, shapeless and deadly. The smoke moved with a feral speed to encapsulate the tired scyther, who screamed with the pain of poison. However, the scyther flew out and towards Amicus, brandishing its large, sickle-like claws. Amicus instinctively ducked, and at Watson’s command, released another mouthful of flames, which narrowly missed the anxious insect. “Fortis, ember!” Watson mentally cursed this scyther’s agility, despite its sickness. All this dodging had stalled long enough for Kayla to show up. Her houndour released a breath of orange flame, which scyther clumsily dodged, and fell painfully on its back to the cool sand below. Its left wing was injured, now. Kayla smiled at this weakened creature, and ordered her houndour to strike it with flames. Watson wasn’t going to let her win this time. Not again. Amicus sensed his companion’s determination and launched at Fortis with its claws. Fortis’s master cried out in anger as the flames went in a distant direction, far from her prey. In desperation, she assumed that the tiredness of the scyther coupled with its earlier fall would make it weak enough to be unable to break free from her pokéball. And how wrong she was. The pokéball flung itself in a distant direction across the expanse of sand from the sheer force of the breakout of scyther. Republican balls broke after a pokémon broke free, yet the Empire had modified pokéballs slightly to become reusable, simply for Guard examinations like this one. There was to be no waste of Empire resources. Watson admired this insect – despite all scars, he would still not submit to being somebody’s slave. It was as if this scyther knew how badly people treated pokémon, and Watson looked forward to showing this insect some kindness once he’d been caught. Fortis and Kayla were now scanning the distance for their pokéball, and Watson’s opportunity was now. The scyther was cringing from the pain of its poison, barely mobile, curled up weakly in a ball on the grey sand. “Amicus, ember!” His houndour released a bright orange breath of fire, causing the scyther, thankfully, to fall unconscious. He threw the red and white ball at his new pokémon, dematerialising it into a stream of red light, and encapsulating it inside the small place. There was no struggle. This was certainly the most rewarding exam that Watson had ever succeeded in. ****** It was beautiful: the walls were decorated a lavish scarlet and gold, the bed was especially made for his body type, and a rich, thick, golden carpet supported his feet. Above his large mirror was the symbol of his work: a mighty zangoose towering over a crippled seviper. And in this room, on an expensive mahogany chair, sat an incredibly rich man. He personally possessed a fifth of the wealth in all of Hoenn. His region feared him. Other regions feared him. He owned the most powerful team of pokémon in the world. Only two of his enemies were unaccounted for. And yet, the Emperor of Hoenn was unhappy. He looked at himself in his platinum-framed mirror: a grown man in a Hallowe’en costume. Is this what he’d been reduced to? All he had to do was put a hood over his golden-blond hair, gray eyes and soft facial features, and others would cower in fear and respect. Or, he thought, simply fear. He should have been happy. And many times he was; he has to be, or those around him suffer. But when he was alone and with no servants to mindlessly punish, the Emperor was mildly sad. Not angry. Not furious. Just sad. He was prone to terrible mood swings: he remembered how happy he’d felt when he’d been contacted that they had captured Bjorn Eckleberry, who was now reluctantly but dutifully constructing for him the ultimate weapon. But he also remember how angry he felt, back in the days of the uprising, when they finally stormed the President’s Office in Mauville, only to find that Walter Whittaker had fled. And this enemy was still unaccounted for. He never used to be like this. Before the days of the uprising, he was a cheerful, charismatic extrovert. Until that night. That one night when everything changed. Whittaker destroyed him. In turn, he destroyed Whittaker. And now, the former Emperor of Popularity was now the Emperor of Hoenn. And yet, Whittaker’s destruction still remained. The Emperor believed vengeance would make him happy again. Satisfaction had been converted from a way of life to a firework: a powerful explosion followed by an abrupt death. The most powerful man in Hoenn was not above everything else, despite his constant attempts at self-deceit. He was still one thing, just like everybody else. Prey. |
Great story! Will you ever make another story like this?
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Fantasic. Good work. I have read published works of fiction that were less entertaining than your fanfiction. I really enjoyed the 103 trainers to catch and 80 pokemon scene. Personally, I wish it had been longer and included a few references to the other cadets and the pokemon they were chasing, but, then again, I am just being selfish because I want to read more!
Allow me to add my 2 cents... Quote:
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I got to thinking, if Hoenn is so isolated that this is blindly believed, does this mean that there are no trade relations between Hoenn and Kanto/Johto? Are Hoenn's borders now closed to prevent tourists from contaminating Hoenn society? If so, have the Hoods/Guards created a powerful enough naval force to keep the borders secure? What happened to the pokemon gyms and pokemon centers? Those buildings would point to the existence of pre-empire pokeballs and peacful co-existence with pokemon. Have public libraries been closed, since they too would contain information to contradict the empire's account of history? Also, twenty years is not a very long time. Do all of the citizens 30 years old and up believe pokemon were savage before the empire? They obviously were around before the rise of the empire and should remember the truth. I find it hard to believe that none of them would have secretly taught their children (and thus some of the cadets), the truth about the empire. Those are just my thoughts, but some further clarification may be needed. If you would welcome a suggestion: The Hoods seem to have telepathic powers, perhaps some sort of society-wide brainwashing took place to errode pre-empire memories in the populace. Then again, maybe you wanted the reader to ask himself these kinds of questions. If that was your intent, you can just ignore me. :) One last thing (sorry about the length of my review) from chapter 2: Quote:
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Acrutheo, you never cease to amaze me. This is the best fic I've ever read. (I'm not exactly an avid fan fic reader, but this story is really good.) I only saw one error, it was in spelling. You spelled Zangoose wrong. You spelled it with an "S" instead of a "Z". But, that is pretty minor.
In the begining of the chapter, I like how you gave some background information explaining the first couple of weeks at the...um...Gaurd learning place.... But anyway, I have a suggestion: Try to describe the desert a little more. Reading this, one can almost forget that it takes place in a desert while reading this. At the end of the chapter, I think it was a great idea to include that passage about the Emporer where you write his thoughts. It really makes you see a whole other side of things. I can't wait until the next chapter comes out! |
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Before the Empire, and for a few years after its rise to power, Hoenn’s trainers professed incredible passion for pokémon. Passion turned to respect from a distance. Respect from a distance became mild caution. Mild caution mutated into fear. All because the grip of terror that the Empire had over the Citizens was so powerful, that they found themselves truly changing their beliefs. Fear bred fear. As I had shown here, the Empire's power is magnificent. You also have to remember that this is a world of pokemon and not of real life: the rulers here possess supernatural creatures of incredible power. This develops a cult-like aspect to the Empire, which is further enhanced by the fact that the Hoods shroud themselves in mystery. On a final note to this, it was a revolution, not a slow Goebbels process that the Empire used to take over. They're not afraid to destroy remnants of the Republic. They want power as quickly as possible. You are exactly the kind of reader that is suited to this fic, though. An excellent critical analysis, it was just that either you missed the importance of the above piece of text, or I failed to emphasise it enough. Do you believe I should emphasise the importance of this more in Chapter Three? (Sorry if the question sounds accusatory; I'm genuinely interested in the opinions of my reviewers.) Quote:
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And isn't it interesting what they both chose? [/possible hint] Quote:
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Regardless, I greatly look forward to your next release. |
For the second time in this story, I've added an explanatory paragraph in this story at my reviewers' request - so many good things have come out of my reviews. ^^ So, feel free to comment on the new paragraph:
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Okay, I'm trying out this constructive criticism thing...
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"People had been disallowed from having Pokemon for so long that these creatures were now feared immensely; "demons" and "fiends", they were often described" I think that, perhaps, the "for so long" and "were now" makes a "were" in place of my "had been" sound... wrong. And I use semi-colons instead of colons wherever possible, for some odd reason. That's just me. And since the "as" doesn't really do anything and can be left out, leave it out. When I look at other people's work, I can kinda see what would make the part more succinct without detracting much from it. This stops short at my own, though, so I may just be considered a hypocrite. Okay, enough with the sentence... No, Acrutheo, you did not give out any hints of dropping the story. I just felt like pleading for it in advance, in case you do forget about it. Yep. Well, the story's very absorbing so far, and the characters are not cliche... well, in my experience... |
If we were all afraid of being hypocrites in our reviews, then so many problems would go unfixed. XD; Don't sweat it.
How about People had been disallowed from having pokémon for so long that these creatures were now feared immensely: "demons" and "fiends", they were often described.? I still think a colon works better. XD; Simply because it introduces a description. Thanks for the suggestion. ^^ Quote:
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A huge thanks to bobandbill for BETAing this chapter. ^^
------ Chapter Four: Defeat “Amicus, Fire Spin!” Watson’s houndour unleashed a magnificent, towering funnel of crimson flames upon the opposing sentret. Watson enjoyed the diversity in pokémon: he had to vary his strategy and think creatively. This made him stronger. And to his delight, made the others weaker – they had no idea how to do so. Creativity wasn’t encouraged in the Empire. His enemy student desperately ordered, “Sentret! Dodge!” “Pursuit, Amicus!” The flames dissolved in the air hungrily without Amicus’ support. The houndour’s eyes darkened considerably, and he charged towards the brown rodent at a rapid speed, viciously knocking the pathetic thing into the midst of another battle. Once again, they were in the battle room: blood red sponge mats, black marble walls, and a ferocious instructor. “Excellent,” Watson congratulated. The houndour barked its name jovially, wanting nothing more than to leap into Watson’s arms. But this wasn’t the time. Here, pokémon weren’t friends. They were tools. Watson’s smile contained an air of arrogant pride: once again, he’d won. Kayla still threatened his position as the top student, but much less fiercely now: over the past week, Ira, Watson’s new scyther, had proved itself to be incredibly powerful. However, Watson’s smile slowly turned into a stunned, silent gasp, as Amicus yelped in pain. What could be wrong? Wait – it wasn’t pain – it was surprise! Amicus was glowing a bright white: all the colours and features of the houndour faded into obscurity at the hands of this intoxicating colour. And then, this white, ethereal figure seemed to take a new shape. The slow metamorphosis eventually ceased, and the white light began to dissolve, as this new pokémon’s features became evident. It looked deadly and powerful, larger and fiercer, faster and stronger: reasonably similar to its former self, but had skeletal horns that were demonically retroflexed. Its long head, powerful jaw and deadly sharp fangs were all indicative of its fierce predatory capabilities. Houndoom. ****** Seven more days until the cadets stepped into the world as qualified Guards, ready to protect Hoenn from evildoers. It was hard for Watson to believe that five weeks had passed since the train ride here. For five weeks, he’d had Amicus, a feisty but unwaveringly loyal houndour. And for three weeks, Ira, his scyther, was battling by his side now. Ira, despite her power, was fearful of Watson to start with. She fought well, but out of fear rather than passion. She seemed to bear a deep distrust toward Watson and all cadets in the room. Gradually, she began to realise that despite the fact that she was a prisoner, her captor was not cruel. Her captor, it seemed, wanted to make friends with her. What an odd intention. Watson appeared to understand her though. He understood the cruelty of trainers, as he had witnessed much abuse by Guards and cadets alike upon their servants. In his lifetime, a few Guards had even set pokémon upon him. Furthermore, Watson himself was inclined to distrust other humans. It was as if Ira was the pokémon equivalent of himself. Every cadet was now sweating with fear and strain. The final exam loomed ahead, and their instructors were taking a far more relaxed attitude. Before, the teachers at the academy would insult them and work them to the bone. The latter action had been removed entirely from their practice, as they, with a streak of sadism, watched almost all of the cadets squirm under the pressure of having to work without their masters breathing down their necks. They’d been doing this over the past fortnight, and the only person who didn’t struggle was Watson. Kayla showed some signs of discomfort, but was still determined to not be left behind, not to be second. The instructors were weaning them off total dependence because it was the coming of age for the cadets. This was the time when they ceased to become Citizens. They were becoming superior. They were becoming Guards. ****** The cold emptiness of the desert became apparent once again. Eighty cadets stood upon the achromatic sand that expanded unboundedly in all directions, with nothing but the dark academy fortress and train track to comfort them. Most cadets became uneasy in this barren wasteland, but not Watson. He found it to be quite poetic to the nature of life. Lonely, cold, and his for the taking. But at this part in the desert, there was no fortress nor traintrack to comfort them. They had been brought to a previously forbidden area of the desert, with something new, which looked quite sinister. It seemed to be some kind of obstacle course. The final examination of his cadet training was here. Sixty students would continue on to become Guards. However, there was something new to this examination that the cadets had not faced before. Something terrifying. A Hood. Watson realised that using a Hood as the examiner would strike terror into the hearts of the cadets, a sharp contrast to the relative independence of learning that they’d had over the past two weeks. Confusion was an excellent tool for control. Many had not even seen a Hood before, let alone had one that is here for the sole purpose to pay attention to them. It was a perfect scene: a desolate desert with eighty terrified teenagers standing in dull, demeaning, shapeless uniforms at the mercy of a man who stands as the Grim Reaper. And this agent of death was not excited at all. He was furious that he had to sit on a train for hours moving into a remote desert to watch a bunch of underdeveloped Citizens fiddle around with underdeveloped pokémon. “Stand at attention, Citizens. How dare you slouch in my presence?” The Hood’s voice was raspy and short-tempered, with a sense of arrogant entitlement: why should lowly Citizens show him anything but complete respect? He angrily spluttered the instructions, “Part one: here you prove that you’re not a bunch of pathetic slugma. Though, most of you look it.” He approached an overweight student standing at the front of the class and jeered, “Well, you great steaming pile of disgusting lard. I guess you’ll fall off like a bug pokémon in the middle of round one.” The student’s face didn’t even budge at this comment that would’ve earned this man a solid punch to the face in any other region. Abuse was commonplace from Guards to Citizens, so this cadet even felt a twinge of honour as this Hood even talked to him, despite the fact that it was an insult. The Hood gestured to the obstacle course ahead. It was full of nets, ropes, holes, and odd machines that appeared to be elaborate weapons. It didn’t look friendly, nor like a healthy challenge. It was a deathtrap. “Row by row,” the Hood rasped, “you will enter the obstacle course without using pokéballs. Get to the side before the other cadets. Just so you know – people have died in this course before.” He said that last sentence with a heavy gravity and a delightful malice. Watson imagined a smile curling up on his presumably ugly face beneath the shadows of his hood. He suspected that the Hood was lying, but didn’t feel the need to test this theory. The order was given for the first row to proceed, and Watson leapt forward under the blood red rope net that introduced the course. Like the mats in the battling room, the colours were distributed irregularly, begging the question: were they always that colour? He scrambled under this net, but it was harder than it looked. The net glistened with some kind of sticky substance which was not only causing skin to itch, but making escaping from the net a grueling task. The cadets writhed and squirmed, with the most determined emerging first. Kayla slid out, sand and slime sticking to her body, deathly itchy. Watson emerged not soon after, coming in a close second for the next obstacle, leaving eight other cadets still pathetically lurching in the painful grip of the rope nets. The new obstacle was an abseiling task, but not without a cruel twist. Instead of a rope to support them, it was a chain. It hung there, dark and menacing against the tawny brick wall. Watson quickly destroyed any advantage Kayla had from her head start; his tall and muscular arms pulled him up at a rapidity that his rival could not match. As he reached the top, Kayla was significantly behind, and he prepared to jump into his next obstacle. A great pool filled with a chartreuse yellow liquid. Watson was initially distrustful of the contents of this great hole, but quickly realized that such scepticism would only slow him down. Searing pain met him at the moment of the splash. Watson felt his body burning, the irritating slime from the net dancing away from him. It seemed that there was some kind of reaction between the two substances that ultimately resulted in a torturous burning. Bastards, Watson thought to himself, as he swam through the deep pool. As he emerged at the other side after about half a minute of swimming, he heard the scream of Kayla emitted through the desert. Was that a tinge of sympathy he felt as he heard that high-pitched cry of pain and distress? No, the heat must just be playing tricks on him. But wait – this desert wasn’t hot – it was cool and miserable! He turned apprehensively, almost as if time had slowed down, to lay his azure eyes upon the next terrifying obstacle. An angry charmeleon. It was a deep vermilion cretin of fire, its anger evident in its eyes. Beige bellied and possessing a menacing tail tipped with a passionate flame, it looked at Watson with a need to burn. It was tied by a black choke chain to a post, and Watson had just stepped inside its allowed territory of attack. Watson cursed loudly and bolted as fast as he could to safety, every inch of his body pumping with the scream of adrenaline. Angry fires of warm colours emerged from the pokémon’s mouth: not enough to bring Watson to his grave, but enough to put tears in his eyes. No amount of training could have prepared him for this beast. Watson, keeping as low as he could, was still running and now in the charmeleon’s locus of movement. The lizard launched at the boy, but Watson dived to avoid it, warm sand greeting him harshly. He scrambled to run, but tripped pathetically and his chin met the ground once again. With a wild determination in its eyes, the charmeleon latched itself onto Watson’s back, grappling violently. This feral cretin raised its claw to strike with a ferocity as if the lizard had some personal grudge against Watson. The cadet furiously dodged, feeling a true fear, his adrenaline giving him the strength to kick this powerful pokémon off him. The charmeleon met the sand, and Watson rapidly sprinted in the direction of the finish line, scared for his life. Angry crimson flames furiously warmed Watson’s side: if they were five centimeters closer it would be all over. His already fast run increased – a blue line approached his feet – just a bit more – yes! He’d emerged at the other side without serious injury, to where the charmeleon was evidently barred from sending flames. A fully armored Guard stood at the end. There was no congratulations. No “well done, mate.” Just a quick check for burns that the last obstacle may have inflicted upon him, and instructions about where to go next. Watson was out of breath, had escaped severe injury, if not death, and in typical fashion of the Empire there was no morale boost. He was still a Citizen. He was still inferior. He still didn’t deserve congratulation of any kind, no matter what the feat. A surge of anger at this system quivered through Watson’s exhausted body – he deserved to be congratulated. He had done well. Better than anyone in the first row, and probably better than anyone in the class, and yet this impertinent Guard refused to recognise it. Despite all his efforts, it was ultimately a bathos. ****** After two hours, the raspy voice of the examining Hood had returned. Watson and the other cadets were simply relaxing in the cool sand. Four had been slow enough to have been severely injured by the charmeleon. One had had a violent allergic reaction to the liquid that filled the pool. Every cadet was sullen, their former liveliness stripped of them. Not one had escaped the course without injury – blisters were the most common, but bruises and large cuts were not hard to find on these teenagers. Was this the life they had chosen? They thought it would be easy, being superior to Citizens. No wonder the Guards always mistreated the commoners if this is what they had to endure! Watson was silently pleased with the difficulty, however. The competition was weakened. Seventy-five cadets quickly rose at the sight of the Hood, ready to prove themselves worthy to become Guards. The Hood called ten names and ordered them to stand in front of the other cadets. They seemed to be the ones possessing the worst injuries. “Apart from those pathetic enough to be physically unable to complete the next challenge, the ten cadets that stand before me did the worst in the class. Pathetic scum that do not deserve to be given the honourable rank of Guard!” This taunt was met with a sullen silence, except from the two top students. Watson made a vague, malicious smile: a signal of superiority, one that said “I’m better than you.” However, Kayla’s action seemed to disturb Watson a little bit. She was nodding in agreement – as if what the Hood said had merit. “However,” continued the perpetually angry Hood, “I am only permitted to deny ten of you the pleasure of the next round. Because five have already been sent home to live as Citizens, that means five of you that stand facing your fellow cadets will face the humiliation of being sent home.” The Guard proceeded in a cruel slowness, listing five names. As each cadet had their name read out, visible despair manifested itself upon their facial features. It had all been for nothing. “Andrew Li… Xavier David… Nicholas Thorburn… Caleb Smith… Soterios Diotrephes.” At the sound of the last name being read, five students rejoiced, thanking the sky that the Hood had not said their name. But the Hood was not finished. “… Will be allowed to continue to the next stage of examination,” he said in a dark tone, savouring the switch from relief to despair. The epitome of cruelty. ****** The second stage of the examinations was underway, and was unsurprisingly to do with battling pokémon. Each cadet had to participate in five battles, with rests in between. And battle number five loomed ahead, as Kayla and Watson were matched up for battle. There was none of the usual pre-battle taunting. Most cadets professed an aching desire to collapse dead at this point. Watson didn’t express such extreme weakness, but a fifth battle was not something he had great enthusiasm for, even if it was against his greatest competitor. “Go, Amicus!” “Aliquant, destroy him!” Aliquant was a makuhita: short, but round and heavy. It was primarily yellow, but had black hands in the shape of boxing gloves, and some loose skin on top of its head appeared to be tied in a bow. Aliquant leapt into the air, hoping to land successfully upon his target, but Amicus moved to the left upon Watson’s command, and the makuhita’s chin painfully met the sand below. “Amicus, smog,” set Watson calmly. He had a plan. The houndoom released from its mouth a stream of purple smoke which makuhita could not easily avoid: it was still on the ground. Aliquant choked in the rushing stream of smoke that was being unrelentingly released from Amicus’ mouth, until it eventually managed to rise and make a pathetic attack attempt. Amicus fell to the side and used its legs to push Aliquant up into the air, and not without difficulty: Aliquant was over double the weight of Amicus. The attempt resulted in the simple pushing of the makuhita a slight distance forward. Aliquant was still choking. Its forehead was going purple. Sure signs of pokémon poison. And yet, this seemed to give the makuhita a powerful determination – the poison seemed to increase his strength – the pokémon’s facial features narrowed in strength. Watson knew what this meant. Makuhita come in two varieties: those that get stronger through receiving an injury (called the Guts variety), and those with an especially protective fat to cushion them from fire and ice attacks (called the Thick Fat variety). And it seemed that this wasn’t the latter. Unfortunately, in doing this experiment, Watson had created a huge risk: the increased power of the makuhita. “Aliquant, SmellingSalt!” Marveling at his cleverness of his plan, Watson forgot the risk that the Guts variety posed under injury, and Makuhita assaulted his Houndoom with a terrible force. One more hit like that and Amicus would be down. But with the poison starting to take its toll on Aliquant, Watson knew that his opponent could not claim any significant strength over him. One fire attack should do it. “Amicus, flamethrower!” “Aliquant, arm thrust!” The houndoom released a stream of bright orange from its mouth with the utmost determination. But the makuhita managed to roll out of the way, and rise to fulfill his trainer’s command. Aliquant, with surprising speed, lifted itself off the ground, ready to strike Amicus. “Flamethrower!” Was it too late? The flames licked Aliquant’s glove-like hands, but he kept going, and released his attack on the weakened houndoom, who was pushed powerfully into the grey sand. Aliquant looked upon his victim with a look of victory. The poison was now too much to bear, the pain rising in every one of the poor makuhita’s muscles. Rolling his eyelids back, he fell on his face. This game was a tie. Tears of frustration swelled up in Kayla’s eyes. She was so powerful, and so intelligent, and yet when it counted, she couldn’t defeat Watson. Sure – she’d passed the examination, but why could she not win? Despite the fact that the match was a tie, for both cadets, they felt nothing but inner frustration. Defeat. |
Nice chapter. I enjoyed it immensely. The Charmeleon plot twist was sweet. :)
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I would suggest, though, that you change that was not present in the old one because you're not actually referring to any particular exam here, so it s a little confusing. Perhaps you could say there was something new to this examination that the cadets had never faced before... |
Once again, thank you for your comments. n_n I really appreciate them. ^^
All the errors are fixed and your suggestions have been enacted. Quote:
If you don't mind, I'd like to ask your opinion as a reviewer: what were your general impressions of the pacing? I need to get Watson out of the academy reasonably quickly as that setting has served its purpose for the plot, but with all the skipped weeks I worry that it may have been a little rushed. Did you find this to be a problem? |
One Word AWESOME!!!!! That's so cool and the best one i have read i enjoy a little pokemon book read so i enjoyed this one.
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Thank you for the compliment, Mantyke. ^^ Do you have any suggestions on how I might improve?
EDIT: Also, I've noticed that this story has reached both the thousand views mark and the three pages mark. Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers, I appreciate your interest, praise, and constructive criticism. ^^ |
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I will say that some of the individual scenes seemed a little rushed. For example: I noticed that Kayla is a main character, yet a lot of her activities aren't detailed. For example, the readers aren't told how Kayla captures her makuhita. Was she pleased to have captured a powerful fighting type or was she resentful of her new pokemon because it represented her failure to capture Scyther before Watson? Also, readers don't see how Kayla fares in the obstacle course after having fallen behind Watson. I would have been interested to see how Kayla handled the Charmeleon. :) *Sigh* I wish I could be this objective when reading my own story. Well, I guess that's what I've got you for, Acrutheo. |
Ah, yes. Objectivity is so much easier with other people's works. ;>
The trouble with expanding upon Kayla in that chapter would be a problem of length. I'd already pushed how far I would've liked to go with that chapter wordcount-wise. 1800-3000 words is generally my limit, as I know that I, as a reader, really dislike having long chapters that I have to stop in the middle of. ^^; |
Wait... I haven't commented yet?! I could swear I did when I first read it...
Oh well, wonderful part. Your pacing is fabulous, unlike my usual one. I drag it out so much that even I get bored with it after a while. I'm gonna try not to with the next one. It is very hard to be objective with one's own piece. This is why we post it and let others comment. Yup. Well, just dropping by to say great part and yes, I'm still reading this. |
First, I would like to say that this is one of the best fanfics I've read, and definitely the best Pokemon fanfic I've ever read.
Secondly, there arent too many things wrong with this other than the fact that there is kind of lack of characters.You got your Watson, you got our Kayla. But is there anyone else? I don't want to get bored about reading about one guy. However that's a small problem that you'll no doubt improve upon. Thirdly, I'm excited for the next chapter! Keep up the good work. I honestly couldn't think of anything else to improve the story. It's just that good. |
Thank you once again for your compliments, Sweet_Dreams and BigfootTheUnbeatable.
For your suggestion about the lack of characters, this will be addressed the chapter after next. Just, the first five chapters lead up to the new environment of number six (at least in my plan anyway), so putting too much effort into making other characters now would be wasted, as they'd be cut come chapter six. But, come Chapter Six, new faces will definitely begin to emerge. Until then, unfortunately, you'll just have to bear with it. ^_^; |
I really liked this last chapter, especially the characterization of the guards with the severity of the exam. You did an excellent job of making such apparently inhuman characters seem much more human. I did spot one mistake, but it's nothing major:
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It's been superb so far, but be sure that you maintain the level of detail and care that you put into your work as you continue. A lot of writers (myself included) put an excellent amount of work into the early and unimportant parts and then get bored and slack off when their stories reach more climactic points. I'm sure you won't have that problem, but be careful nonetheless! |
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Thanks for the review, icomeanon6. ^^ |
I haven't been on PC for a little, so I couldn't check out Chapter 4...so, I just did now.
I thought that this chapter was also awesome, like the others. :) I like descriptive words you used such as "professed". But, for some reason, I thought that the begining seemed a little wierd because so little time passed from day one at the academy to final exam day. It seemed unrealistic. Well, it was great! |
Once again, bobandbill takes heaps of work from reviewers with his BETA report. XD Thanks. ^^ Also, thanks to Mewtwo42 for the compliments. ^^
------- Chapter 5: Pain Watson looked through curved slits upon the downtrodden streets of Lilycove City. Being from the much smaller Verdanturf, he wasn’t used to this kind of bustling activity. Suits walked in and out of buildings, Citizens hurried to work, Guards patrolled: everyone had something to do, somewhere to be. There was building after building after building, parted by endless, defective roads and narrow concrete pavements. Despite this activity, it was no less sombre here than it was in Verdanturf Town: misery and fear still smothered Lilycove just like every other place in this wretched region. Power, however, rested with Watson. He was out of his drab dogi and in a powerful dark silver armour that evoked fear in passing citizens. He bore the menacing Empire crest over the right side of his chest: if someone were to strike his heart, the symbol would remain intact. Watson recalled a common saying by the Hoods in Hoenn. ‘We don’t need your life to sustain the Empire.’ Watson was assigned the job of patrolling Lilycove, and had been doing this for a few days now. His instructions were clear: “Kill the criminals, scare the Citizens, and leave the Suits alone.” He felt he was doing a fine job at the second instruction: Watson sneered at Citizens that were in range and even released his houndoom to terrify a young couple. Just to remind them that it was not their place to enjoy themselves. He did ponder about the relation with the Suits, though. He’d always recognised their importance: they were intelligent people – the brains – were they superior to Guards? But only the top Suits were allowed to carry pokémon, and even then, only one. In that sense, they were inferior. Perhaps the two classes were equal? Or maybe the Hoods planned it like this to create a further sense of confusion, to disorientate people so they became intellectually dependent on the Empire. He admired the Empire’s intelligence for this. However, Watson was bored, and wanted to exert some of his well-earned power. So, when he saw a child protesting about not being bought a toy he wanted, Watson seized the opportunity. He slowly approached the duo, his cold boots menacingly quiet along a dark road of this melancholy area. “Is there a problem here, Citizens?” Fear swelled up in the green eyes of the mother. The blond-haired boy seemed to not fully understand the power that Watson wielded; he must have been five years old at most. “Please,” the mother pleaded and her brunette hair shook, “It’s alright.” “So your child is guilty of rioting and you’re guilty of perjury, then!” The Empire had a knack for hyperbole in its criminal charges. As a Guard, Watson was the policeman, judge, jury, and executioner over this woman and her child. Lying to a Guard was tantamount to perjury, and punishable by a cruel, public death, at the Guard’s discretion. Watson was in two minds about this situation. In his hands, he held the lives of two people he had never met. Absolute fear was in the mother’s eyes, and now the child was beginning to cry. He had real power now – this made him feel incredibly fulfilled. But was it enough to just have the power and to be feared if he did not use it? And if he did, would it be moral? Watson had never had any time for ethics; they only held him back. But now he was in a situation of power. He was a Guard! He could exercise his own morals! To an extent, at least. He stood there, looking at the woman through the metal slits of his helmet, observing her – what would he do? Watson had been abused by the Guards in his childhood – it served to make him tougher. Didn’t it? Yes. It did. If Watson was left to glide through his childhood without discipline, then he would not be what he is today: a powerful Guard. “Give me your child,” said Watson coldly. Maternal instincts kicked in, and the mother sobbed, “No, anything but that!” “You will do as I say or you will be fed to the beedrill, along with your child!” The mother’s mouth hung half open, and the blond-haired boy hid, now terrified, behind his mother. Was he becoming a monster? Either way, it was too late to back down now. Mercy was not to be shown. “Boy, stand in front of me.” Sobbing quietly, his eyes red with fearful tears, the boy slowly approached the front of Watson. Several Citizens were now watching – it was intoxicating. They hated this Guard and what he was doing, yet their vulture instinct made them curious as to his punishment. And Watson, with an air of satisfaction, noted their fear: it hung in the air, like a malodorous gas. This boy was to fall victim to a reenactment of Watson’s punishment when he was six. He threw a master ball vigorously on the ground (Ira had been transferred from its pokéball after Watson graduated) and a scyther emerged. Both the boy and his mother looked fearfully at this giant insect. “Slash his thigh open,” Watson said sadistically. Ira hesitated. There was a silent murmur emerging: could the Guard not control his own pokémon? Anger erupted and Watson spluttered, “Ira! How dare you defy me! Slash it open now!” Ira reluctantly lifted her large claw and brought it down with immense power upon the child’s thigh. The poor child screamed in pain as he fell with great force upon the ground. Blood stained the concrete menacingly. The mother fell down to her child and she wrapped a bandage around him; Citizens always carried bandages in case of incidences like these. An unwelcome pang of remorse hit Watson’s chest. This was no treatment for a child! However, he could not show kindness. Mercy was forbidden for Guards once the rampage had begun. Ira, on the other hand, seemed significantly more downtrodden at this act. She was finally beginning to see Watson as a friend, and then this catastrophe happened. “Hopefully this will teach you to show your brat the difference between right and wrong,” concluded Watson, only being able to vaguely remember what had incited such an attack. “Ira, return.” By the time Watson turned his head to look upon the streets, the audience that he knew was once there was gone. In its place, a puddle of fresh, yellow vomit. ****** What an ugly area: a black façade rose high into the air, without windows or texture; twisted gargoyles of Hoods and powerful pokémon surrounded the place; it was desolate, feared, hated. There was no grass, only concrete, and it was built into a large wall of rock. The rest of Lilycove was beautiful compared to this eyesore. It was the office of the Lilycove Hood. Each area in the Empire had a Hood assigned to it. The purpose of the Local Hoods was simple: instill fear, terror, and suffering over their region. The Lilycove Hood was quite a terrible one: he was well known across the Empire for being the most vicious, sadistic Local Hood. Rumor had it that he had been offered many promotions before, but he’d obviously turned them down: they didn’t give them enough opportunity to torture Citizens anywhere else. Watson’s job here was simple: make sure those coming in and leaving had the authority to do so. And it was quite easy, but tedious: only Guards and Suits went in and out of this building, so he had no opportunity to exert his power. Until the afternoon. Watson had received a signal through his helmet to enter the building. His helmet had an excellent communicator within it, so he could call for backup or be called upon when needed. But it had a far more useful purpose. It could identify Hoods. A few days ago, he had seen a Hood briefly pass, who his helmet identified to be the Deputy Supreme Commander of the Guards. Curious that he (or she – it was impossible to tell) would be coming through Lilycove. But, as Watson knew, it wasn’t his place to ask questions. At least, not verbally. As he hurriedly entered the building, he noticed that it was almost precisely like the Guard academy: windowless, depressing, and with black marble walls. There were no redeeming features of this soulless building. Watson further noticed that there were a few other Guards at his tail, running from elsewhere. What could possibly be wrong? They were about to find out: a senior Guard approached them. He wore almost the same intimidating uniform, but three white stars were visible on the left side of his chest, opposite to the Crest of the Empire. He spoke in a half-whisper, signaling danger, “we have received credible information that there are rebels inside this building, so we’re bulking up our security inside.” One Guard asked with a genuine worry within his voice, “Is it His Eminency?” One pompous, familiar voice answered the question for the senior Guard. “Why else would they come into the master of Lilycove’s place of work unless they wanted to kill him?” Ah, his old rival, Kayla – he hadn’t seen her since the academy, and he could see that she hadn’t changed much. And so, for an hour, these Guards patrolled the interior of the Lilycove Fortress. It seemed to be a false alarm – there were no bombs, no drawn pokéballs, and no rebels storming in. Well, there might have been – rebels had no uniform and simply disguised themselves as Citizens and Suits. But, if they had entered, they certainly hadn’t done anything. “So, how has your career been treating you?” An innocent question, as most would have taken it. Watson was now assigned to stand Guard at a door that had no discernible purpose, with his old rival Kayla. However, Watson, being naturally sceptical, decided not to answer. “I heard you ordered your scyther to attack a five-year-old,” she said, still maintaining an innocent tone of voice. “Not using your own fists anymore to injure the helpless?” He couldn’t help himself, “So that’s an admission that you’re helpless?” “No, Young, just a ploy to get you to say something.” And so they stood, mostly in silence, exchanging occasional sneers and insults at each other. At five minutes until the next rotation, both seemed extremely relieved that they would soon be out of each other’s company. And not necessarily because they didn’t like each other – but because their mutual hatred seemed to be waning. It seemed, that despite the Hoenn education system, they were both intelligent, and could connect on an intellectual level. However, the way they connected on this level was through slinging insults back and forth, some of which would not be insulting to most people, simply because they wouldn’t understand them. Bzzz. Their communicators were speaking to them with the voice of the senior Guard. “We have identified a rebel who is masquerading as a Suit. He will use the identification card of Robert Carter – kill on sight.” Watson and Kayla exchanged worried looks; a couple of minutes ago, they had admitted a Suit through the door they were guarding. And his identification card definitely said “Robert Carter.” They hurriedly used their communicators to inform the other Guards of this and told them of their location, shortly before silently opening their door and, pokéballs drawn, creeping forward. Keeping as low as they could, they moved along this dimly lit corridor and eventually reached a shiny metal door. And behind it, they could hear muffled sounds of crashing; sabotage; destruction. Watson silently pulled the door open and snuck in, Kayla at his tail. It was terrible: a graveler, at the command of what looked like a Suit, was destroying files and computers. Piles of information now lay in shreds and ruins on the white-tiled floor. At the release of Amicus and Aliquant, the distracted rebel noticed them. “’Bout time, Empire lackies,” he grinned. Next to him stood a large, grey pokémon with four stubby, but seemingly powerful arms protruding from its body. “Graveler, Rock Polish!” “Aliquant, Vital Throw!” The rock pokémon seemed to weep some kind of transparent liquid out of its body, making it almost instantaneously shiny and lubricious. The makuhita charged at graveler, who merely stood, looking amused. By the time Kayla realized what had happened it was too late: Aliquant, with all its force lunged at the pokémon, quickly losing its grip and hitting hard down upon the floor. “Amicus, Fire Spin!” The houndoom released a hurricane of fire, but Graveler easily slid out of the way. It seemed unbefitting for such a brutish pokémon to slide away with the grace of an ice skater. Footsteps sounded behind them, and the rebel knew he was in trouble. “Graveler, Mud Sport!” The graveler said its own name, and released upon the Guards and their pokémon a large amount of thick, disgusting mud, that knocked the humans off their feet, and made the pokémon flinch. By the time they’d wiped their eyes, two backup Guards stood behind them, and the rebel was gone, the pitter-patter of his feet vaguely audible through a white door on the other side of the room. Watson was not going to wait. He ran after this infidel, determined not to have that blast of mud as the last word. He ran agilely and rapidly to his prey. The black marble walls either side of him were phantasmal whirs of shadow, but he could see the running rebel now. After a few more seconds of running, the rebel took a sharp turn to the side, which Watson wasn’t prepared for, and in his attempt to slow down, ran past the door. Quickly recovering from this embarrassment, he turned and ran through this new far more narrow corridor, and saw an open door at the end. Watson’s killer instinct was now in overdrive: just a little further, and he would have singlehandedly caught a rebel! In his first week of being a Guard! The carrot of success now bigger and juicier than ever, he emerged through the door, refusing to show any sign of tiredness. Light flooded this room – or, more accurately, it appeared to after the dimness of the corridor. He stood on a black marble balcony above the atrium, running around the circumference of it. Below, there were numerous pokémon battles occurring in a series of blind rages. Shouting, fire, electricity, ice: the terrifying calmness of this building had now become exciting chaos. Scanning both his left and his right, he saw the rebel a catchable distance away from him. To his left. “Amicus, catch him!” The houndoom emerged from its ball with a determined expression upon its face, and sprinted after the rebel. Upon seeing the futility of running from a houndoom, the suited rebel approached it and released his graveler. “Graveler, Rollout!” The animate rock curled itself into a ball and rolled, with increasing acceleration, at Amicus. Watson, running along the balcony to meet the battle, shouted the obvious to his companion, “Dodge it, Amicus!” Watson’s pokémon moved to the side with ease, but the rolling pokémon simply turned and sped back, even faster, towards Amicus. Amicus dodged again, but with more difficulty this time. As Watson reached the battle, Amicus had dodged the spinning rock for a third time, and it didn’t look like it could be done a fourth. “Amicus, Torment!” The houndoom let out a low, psychotic growl that caused the Graveler to immediately stop rolling, and instead proceed forward in a painful tumble. When Graveler tried to achieve its balance, it looked positively enraged; unable to think clearly. However, it never regained its balance, as Amicus lowered its head and thrust it off the balcony, where it hit the floor below with a painful whine and a large thud. Even in a high-pressure situation like this, Watson still felt that hurting the enemy’s pokémon that badly was a terrible act. Once again, though, remorse had tricked him: in his moment of reflection, the suited rebel was flying down to the floor to aid his comrades, his long blonde hair flying in the wind created by his method of transport: a staraptor, a large, grayish brown bird with a white belly and crimson crest feathers. Watson withdrew Amicus and sent out Ira, who had still not forgiven Watson for his atrocious act upon the small boy. “Please, Ira,” Watson pleaded, “I know it seems wrong – but – look, I promise I’ll explain later if you help me save Lilycove from anarchy!” Ira seemed to find some sense in this, and her trainer was desperate: rarely was he so inarticulate. So, with an obvious reluctance, Watson was allowed to climb upon Ira’s back, and they flew down with haste to the atrium. It was quite a spectacular sight: pokémon of all species and strengths were evident on both sides, a spurt of flame would come up, a gust of wind would blow it away, a hail of rocks would fight against that wind, only to be smashed by a powerful punch. Watson wanted nothing more than to involve himself in this large battle immediately. He quickly released Amicus again, and told him to use Fire Spin on an ivysaur that seemed to be causing one of his fellow Guards trouble. “Ira, Swords Dance!” Ira leapt into the air and swung her blades with a mad fury to protect herself from the fierce spray of water from an enemy quagsire, and the water flung around the room, lightly raining upon its inhabitants. “Quagsire, Mud Bomb!” What was it with rebels and mud? “Ira, Safeguard!” At his command, the scyther raised its claws in front of its body and glowed a heavenly white, and the ball of mud released by the quagsire’s mouth fell to the ground upon touching this aura. Something hit Watson’s foot: it was Amicus! He was engaged in two battles at once, and was far too inexperienced to win them both. The poor houndoom lay pathetically at his feet, breathing heavily; bruises seemed to be developing on Amicus’s front legs and forehead. In this moment of distraction, Ira fell back into Watson: he’d been paying too much attention to his injured pokémon and not enough to his healthy one. Watson now lay painfully on the marble floor, struggling to get up, with all the weight of Ira on him. He painfully whispered a single word to both of his pokémon. “Sorry.” And at this word, Watson felt the powerful foot of a rebel hostilely meet his face. His senses drifted away, and before oblivion cradled him, Watson knew nothing. Nothing but one feeling, that crept through his body and grappled it with all its might. Pain. |
This is quite an amazing story. Definately one of the better fan fictions that are up.
There's not much to say on grammar. From what knowledge I do have, you've got it down pretty well. I...well, what can I say? Truly amazing work. I love for the feeling of pain is described at the end of the chapter. I'm truly speechless. Keep it up-- it's epic. It's paranoia and epidemic spreading through Hoenn. -Silver |
There wasn't really anything wrong with chapter 5. Although, I thought the "be mean" theme of being a gaurd was a bit much. What I mean is that cutting the kid's thigh was a bit drastic.
There was nothing really wrong with the chapter as a whole(as I, said before) but the entire fan fic needs one thing that I think would make the writing better in general. You don't seem to describe the area in much detail. When you describe the windowless buildings, everything is fine - but when I'm reading the fic it starts to feel a bit shallow because there is not much text decribing the area is taking place in. When the reader is left to think up scenery by themselves, they realize quickly that they are reading, and not totally immersed in the story. The goal(I believe) is to have the reader feel as though they are in the story, totally immersed. You may want to consult other people for suggestions on this, but that's my opinion. I still think it's great, though!! Please keep posting! |
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Very nice chapter. I found myself surprised and disgusted by Watson's actions against the 5-year-old, but that is not a criticism. The emotional reaction the passage caused was quite potent considering that I'm was reading a mere fictional story!
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The way I read it I thought that the shift change had occurred and was thus confused by the next passage about Carter. I also enjoyed the part were Watson found himself unable to to manage two battles at once. This was cool because it challenged my concept that Watson is this great pokemon trainer with boundless skill. In a way, the real world as a Guard is proving tougher for Watson than the academy was. At the academy he was nearly always on top, always in control. |
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Thanks for the review, EricDaRed. ^^ |
Well, in hindsight, I agree that the scenery could do with a little work, but remember not to put in too much. Especially in an action scene. I would find it slightly disconcerting if, when you're reading about an aerial attack from an enemy, the story suddenly gabbles about the colour of the others' tunics. However, this can sometimes be appropriate, so... meh... I trust you not to make that mistake that I'll probably make in the future.
Yes, the fact that he had failed his Pokemon and the two seperate battles reinforce the feeling of reality in this situation. The mistakes, feelings of regret and consequences of his actions make him seem more human, and, to me, his rash decision to inflict pain upon a child is understandable, although in no way approved of. It informs the readers that the Guards have their own reasons for being cruel. And I think I forgot to mention that having the main characters as part of the "evil organisation" and not a part of the rebels cancels any clicheness at all. Well, I shall breathlessly await the next part. |
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Thanks for the review, Sweet_Dreams. ^^ |
After having some family problems, I have decided to return to PC and continue this story. :D I come bearing two gifts: a summary of the events thus far (for those that want to refresh their memory but don't want to have to reread everything again), and Chapter Six (which, I'm afraid, may be a bit rusty, but bobandbill did 'BETA' it). Enjoy. :)
Summary: Spoiler:
Chapter Six: Hell Darkness faded into dimness. Tiredly, Watson opened his eyes. Where was he? What happened? Suddenly features began to appear - it felt like he had been asleep for days. The last thing he remembered, he was in Lilycove - and - and the battle! Of course! The room was small, intimidating, and subfusc. Watson sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair, across from a skinny man with greying brunette hair. To Watson’s left, there was a mirror, which, as he suspected, was two-way. He was stripped of his Guard uniform and his pokémon, and sat with a drab, bole robe draped across him. The middle-aged man leaned across the table and spoke in a confident voice, “Tell me your name, Guard.” “Wh-what?” “Your name, please, young man.” He shook his head solemnly. “You’re just a boy, aren’t you? They’re sending ‘em into battle younger and younger these days.” Watson’s natural suspicion kicked in, and he lied. “My name is Matthew.” “Well, Matthew, look at the situation you’re in now. Do you know where we are?” Watson leaned back in defiant silence. “It’s your choice, actually. Stay like that and this place will be your tomb: we rebels are no less ruthless than the Empire in punishing those who defy us. One of your comrades that we captured refused to talk, so we dug a Weedle horn into his foot, stripped him bare, and threw him into a cell. It’ll take about three days for the poison to reach his vital organs.” Watson’s interrogator paused. “In the meantime, he can enjoy the painful leg rot that will be setting in shortly. “On the other hand, you could cooperate. Unless you feel so indebted to your Empire that you are willing to become a martyr for them? Are your principles that strong, Matthew?” Watson scoffed. “I hardly became a Guard because I’m a patriot. I came for the lifestyle of luxury and rule. What can a group of outcasts possibly give me that is equivalent to that?” “You’re a shrewd boy, Matthew, so consider this: when faced with a torturous death, is life not its own luxury?” Watson thought about this, and realised the logic in his interrogator’s answer. He despised this position he was in – a position of weakness. His adversary had, at his disposal, thousands of people who would kill him, and pokémon at his waist. To help gain some emotional stability, Watson afforded himself a little power, and decided to pose a question to his captor. “What is your name?” “My name is Matthew,” smirked the interrogator. “Quid Pro Quo, I’m afraid.” Was Watson that easy to read? Or was he just surrounded by a lot of emotionally adept people? “Very well, old man: my name is Watson, now tell – “ Eyes widening, the man commanded, “Boy, what is your last name?” “Young, why?” “Oh,” he said, sounding profusely disappointed. “As per our understanding, my name is Gary Moore.” “Why were you so interested in my last name?” Watson was curious. “Unimportant,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “So, Watson, have you made your decision? Shall it be the Weedle horn, or life as an Enemy of the State?” Watson ignored the question in his desperate struggle for some power in this conversation. “Why me?” “Nothing personal, kid. It’s just that Guards make the best Rebels, ironically enough. They’ve had strict pokémon training and almost always operate out of self-interest, so they come to our way of thinking when we tell them of how they’ll be executed. Now, do not stall anymore. Answer the question: Weedle or Rebel?” Watson took no time in coming to his answer. “Rebel.” ****** Watson now found himself sitting on a plastic, crimson chair in a wide, circular room, with many other rebels. Gary was at the centre of the room, projecting a loud voice across the hall. It was hardly as lavish as the rooms of the Hoods, and did not possess any unnecessary aesthetic features, but certainly did not possess the rotting walls of Citizen houses. “Well done to those who went into Lilycove three days ago. We have been deeply successful, and now welcome six new rebels to our ranks!” At this announcement, there was a cheer. Watson found this brotherhood sickening. And then he realised: these people were brainwashed. The rebellion possessed all the cult-like elements of the Empire. Would Hoenn be any better off if the Rebels won? “And we have uncovered a plan, one that is not worth cheering about.” Gary’s face was solemn. “We managed to uncover the opening page of Operation Sweeping Sky. We could not retrieve the others, but allow me to read to you a paragraph from it. “‘The Emperor has made it clear that his rule over Hoenn is insufficient. After capturing Bjorn Eckleberry, inventor of the first stable master ball, we have decided that we shall use him to improve the power of the ball. With this, we shall capture the Legendary Pokémon, and launch an attack on the region of Johto. Our forces shall eventually move to Kanto. The end result shall be the acquisition of two colonies.’” The hall was silent. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Deathly silence. Watson had heard the terms “Kanto” and “Johto” in passing reference, and understood that they were tribal savages that had not learned to tame pokémon, and rejected the Emperor’s society. But now he realised that those descriptions must be lies: these places must be alternate civilisations! And now, they were to be captured. Soon, they would have to endure the same hell that every Citizen of Hoenn had to endure every day. “As we know, this would also mean the death of the rebellion. We simply cannot compete with the Empire if they can use the legendary Rayquaza to send a bolt of lightning that would kill ten at once, or the legendary Jirachi to seek out our bases with its psychic powers. This is it, my friends. We have been so far working on acts of sabotage, and occasionally intelligence and counterintelligence. But this is where it gets serious. “It is now a race against the Empire: can we topple them before they can perfect the master ball?” ****** “Amicus! Ira!” The houndoom and scyther rushed towards him, after being released from their master balls, delivered to Watson’s cabin. The joy in Ira’s face to be reunited with Watson meant that she had forgiven Watson’s cruelty to the child a few days ago. Amicus looked around, sniffed the air, and asked, “<Where are we, Watson?>” “Change of plans, Amicus. We’ve – well – switched sides.” Ira’s face lightened up immediately upon hearing this news, and she said her name several times, in gratitude. Watson bowed his head sadly, saying, “Ira, it’s not what you think. I may not be a Guard anymore, but I’m working for an organisation that is just as cruel. It tortures those who do not help it. It enslaves and indoctrinates people. As you may have seen, it commits terrorist activities that kill and wound innocent civilians. The only difference between the Empire and the Rebels is their power. We’re still working for a diabolical organisation.” Watson smiled a sad smile, but Ira sunk to the floor, not happy enough to beat her wings. “<Ira, cheer up.>” Amicus touched his nose to Scyther’s arm compassionately. “<How can I, Amicus? This world is evil. When I am wild, I become captured. When I am captured, my captor is cruel. When he is not, those he works for are cruel. And my claws are used to commit these cruel acts!>” Watson could only respond with a sad nod. “<Ira, that’s how the world works. Watson and I hate it too. But there is no escaping reality. Sometimes our duty is to do what we cannot see as moral. But we must do it. That doesn’t make you a bad pokémon.>” “<We are defined by our actions, are we not?>” “<True, but when we must do things, we must disregard ethics. Ethics cannot apply to actions we must perform, but only to those that we choose.>” “<But we do have a choice, Amicus! We can choose to run away! But we fear for Watson! We fear for ourselves! Ultimately, all pokémon who perform terrible deeds are too cowardly to do the right thing.>” “It is unreasonable for you to thrust yourself into a life of fear, Ira,” Watson said. “Your choice may not be completely taken from you, but is limited severely. If you flee from me so that you may avoid the deeds that I am ordered to see happen, you will just be captured by someone else. Someone crueler. And all the while you will live in fear. What we have, Ira, is friendship. It can help us get through these acts which we must perform: it gives us a positive purpose amongst all the negative.” Ira’s wings beat sadly in depressed acknowledgement. ****** “Arcanine, what did you bring me? Oran Berries? Delicious!” It was a small riverbed, the ground drenched in autumnal leaves. The man was leaning up against a small, brown, withering tree; one of many that surrounded this serene place. A nice little secret deep in the rarely visited bush east of Pallet Town. An old man, white-haired, bearded, and muscular, gratefully gripped the blue berry and hungrily gulped it down. “Do you remember when I was so rich that even you could enjoy roast combusken cuisine?” The Arcanine barked reminiscently. “<Yeah, I know, buddy.>” The man paused and looked at his companion. “Do you think what I’m doing is wrong?” The orange and black-striped canine simply stared into the old man’s eyes. It was a question the old man had asked him so many times, and yet, neither could find a conclusive answer. About twenty years ago, this old man went by the name Walt to his friends. Walter Whittaker to the public. But, he went by no name now. He never stayed in one place too long, forced to live a nomadic life due to the spies of the Empire, which lurked throughout the world, in search of him, and the other Public Enemy. “You know, Arcanine, it’s been fifteen years, if I’m not much mistaken. You know what that means.” The Arcanine barked solemnly. “How long do you think it will take him? It’ll certainly be nice to come out of hiding.” Until then, Walt could only wonder what was happening in the Empire, and to those inside it. And, knowing the Emperor, he could only think of one word to describe it. Hell. |
Chapter Seven: True Power
A little auburn-haired six-year old pranced around the school garden, jubilance galore. There were rose bushes, lush grass, and fences small enough to climb on; the world was a playground: so many games, so much fun to be had, so little time. The only thing more that this happy child could want was a father. “Oi! Brat! What are you doing?” A slit-faced figure wearing heavy armour was beckoning to him in the distance. “Nothing, mister! Hey, can I see your pokémon?” “What? No!” The Guard was fuming. This kid wasn’t scared at all! “Learn your place, you snivelling little runt! You don’t talk to me like that!” The kid chuckled. “Bet ya can’t catch me, old man!” Full of glee, the child ran off, not possessing the fear that every other child did. And, of course, the child’s challenge was met rather swiftly, the Guard quickly scooping up the gleeful thing. And then kicking him to the ground. The child cried in pain: this was no game. Two older teachers in the distance pleaded silently. A younger one stood and nodded. “You wanna see my pokémon, kid? Alright, I’ll show it to you! Scyther!” The Guard released a gigantic emerald insect that towered over the small boy, now cowering in the foetal position. Across its eye was a deep, terrifying scar, one that would haunt the boy for years to come. The Guard cried viciously, “Slash!” The Scyther lifted its claw, and mercilessly cut the small child. Blood gushed from his thigh. Scream after scream echoed and tear after tear dropped. This was the most excruciating thing the poor child had ever felt. Fear swallowed him, and the poor thing fell unconscious. Watson woke from his dream with a weak squeak, his shirt drenched in cold sweat. It was one that he experienced on a frequent basis for the past nine years. He shook his head, lay down again in the white sheets, and tried to allow sleep to cradle him. Unsuccessfully. The most horrible emotion plagued Watson, brought alive by his nightmare. Guilt. Watson recalled, in his short time as a Guard, the attack on the small child, for the offense of exhibiting as much nonconformity as Watson once did. Watson usually did not feel much compassion for his fellow man, least of all those who cause anger to him, but he couldn’t help but feel regret for his vicious strike upon that small, nameless child. Would the child remember the attack as bitterly as Watson remembered his? Would it change his joy into anger, like it did to Watson? He would never know; this ate him inside more than anything else. He would never know what would become of the one he destroyed. ****** One could think of the Rebels and the Empire as two separate governments: one in power; one in exile. The government in power grows overconfident and complacent, so suffers multiple inefficiencies; the one in exile has only limited resources and is desperate, so it compensates by being efficient. And such was the issue with the computers in the Guard Headquarters on Mt. Pyre. The Empire had outlawed computers for all but the very elite to own; their computer security engineers did the bare minimum; the Rebels stole a few computers and kidnapped skilled technicians; the Rebels broke into the system. Such hacking was done sparingly, for it was traceable, and breaches would lead to a hysteria in the Empire which would lead them to significantly improve their security infrastructure. The Rebels knew about a security hole in their systems for months, but waited for the right opportunity to exploit it. Operation Sweeping Sky was that opportunity. And now, through this exploit, the Rebellion had the whole eighty-one page brief, and the many pieces of sensitive information that came with it. They now knew that Eckleberry was scheduled to have a proper master ball finished three months from now, that Olivine City was the Empire’s planned port of attack, and that Public Enemy Number Two was last spotted just outside of Ecruteak City. “Who’s Public Enemy Number Two?” Watson inquired, upon receiving a copy of the brief. The person he had asked was a nineteen-year old Rebel called Lew. Lew was a buff, blond-haired former Guard, and had been working with the Rebels for two years. His eyes were a penetrating brown, and he was quite stout. Watson had taken an immediate liking to Lew: much like Watson, Lew originally joined as an alternative to execution. Over the years, Lew had told Watson, he realised that, despite its cultish behaviour, the Rebellion was ultimately united in a good cause: the death of the Emperor. It was just that the leaders could not tolerate dissent in order to achieve this goal, and the incompetence of the Empire needed to be constantly reinforced to the public through terrorism. Lew also noted, “Nothing could be worse than this hellhole, Watson. Nothing.” Lew also noted that the Rebellion was an easier place to get promoted to the top positions, a prospect which made Watson interested. The Rebels were far more interested in merit and new ideas than the Empire, which wanted conformity to the twisted worldview of its leader. “Public Enemy Number Two is really not public at all,” joked Lew. “We have strong reason to believe that it was a man named Flynn, who was the original right-hand man of the Emperor. You see, back before the Emperor seized control, Flynn was the Minister of Finance in the Republic – essentially the second most powerful position after the President. “He was used by the Emperor to corrupt the entire system and poison the administration with corruption and incompetence – more than it already had. He was the real architect behind the fall of the Republic – the Emperor just coordinated the revolution, and had the most charisma. “Eventually, Flynn tried to kill the Emperor – nobody knows why. We have our theories, but they’re mostly baseless. He failed, obviously, and then fled Hoenn. Nobody has a clue where he is now, and the Ecruteak spotting is probably a lie to motivate the Hoods. Some think he’s dead. At least they have an idea where Public Enemy Number One – Walter Whittaker – is. But even with him, it’s still pretty vague: Southern Kanto.” Watson smiled, and had mixed feelings on Whittaker. In school, he learned about Whittaker as a deadly tyrant who knew how to command savage pokémon, and used them to massacre those who opposed him, until the courageous Emperor destroyed him. This, of course, was a complete lie. Watson now knew that Whittaker had not stayed, but had fled like a coward, and ran a system that certainly had pokémon under control. He also knew that upon the creation of the Empire, the Emperor released a Public Enemy list to the Hoods – one that spanned over three-hundred names. And yet Whittaker was clever enough to be one of two that managed to evade the Emperor. He was a coward, but a clever coward. “By the way, Watson, we need to improve your team soon.” “Oh?” “You only have a Houndoom and a Scyther. Two admirable pokémon, but you’ll need another one soon, and you’ll need to train your current ones.” “You speak of pokémon as if they are tools,” said Watson coldly, his eyebrows lowering. “I know that you have a certain… affinity for them, but as far as we’re concerned, they are. You can treat them how you like outside of battle, but you’ve got to be realistic, mate.” Lew leant back, a vague smile upon his face, mildly amused at Watson’s opinions. “Ever consider how much power a pokémon could have in battle if a pokémon knew that it was fighting in battle with you, and not for you?” “Interesting concept, but unproven.” Lew shrugged. “Let’s test your theory. I have pokémon, and I can see them for what they are. Physically, they’re stronger than yours. Let’s see if affection gives yours more power.” Watson smirked; Lew’s arrogance would be his downfall. ****** They stood in one of the many underground rebel stadiums. The floor was dirt, with markings for boundaries; a big pokéball-shaped outline to mark the centre. There were a few chairs on the side for spectators, but they were empty. “Sure. Ira, go!” “You’ve got no chance: Machoke, show him the meaning of strength!” The two creatures materialised from their purple balls: a giant, green insect staring down a muscular, light blue, humanlike fighter. “Ira, Double Team! Surround him!” Two illusory copies rapidly propelled themselves from Scyther, and the trio surrounded the machoke in an attempt to confuse it in a whir of emerald. “Foresight! Submission!” Machoke’s eyes glowed the seven colours of the rainbow, and it immediately grabbed the real Scyther, causing the copies to disappear. Ira struggled, but the machoke’s strength was irresistible, and it dived the poor bug powerfully into the ground, causing the wind to get knocked out of her. “Do it again, machoke!” “Ira, agility!” The machoke tried to lift Scyther off the ground again, but Ira responded by shaking every part of her body with incredible speed, causing friction burns. Machoke released her, grunting in pain, and she darted rapidly into the air, turned, and dove at Machoke with incredible speed. “Vital throw!” The Machoke went to grab the incoming green bullet, but Ira reacted quickly, as she dove under machoke’s outstretched arms, and struck him under the chin with surprising power, causing him to stumble and fall. “Dive again!” “Revenge!” Ira darted upwards and downwards, swooping for the kill. Machoke tensed and grunted, a seemingly supernatural rage filling every muscle in his face, preparing itself to grab the charging insect. Was Machoke fast enough? Machoke launched its entire body into the descending scyther, who moved to the left. Too slowly. Ira was flung across the stadium and landed with a painful thud against the opposite wall. No movement. “Friendship didn’t help you there, Watson.” “Getting cocky, Llewellyn?” Gary had entered the room, and was sitting down on the metal chair. He wore a black suit: expensive, like the higher-level Suits would wear. “Don’t underestimate him just because he’s new.” “Nah, boss, just seeing how effective his strategy is,” said Lew, raising his palms. Gary raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t think you have an unfair advantage?” “He should at least be able to hold his own, if his philosophy is as effective as he hypothesises.” Watson respected Lew for his strength, his perceptiveness, and even admired his arrogance. There was just something that irritated him though. The fact that Lew could not share Watson’s admiration for pokémon. Watson often held harmless pokémon from his cynical views of reality; maybe it was time to be more inclusive? “Amicus, destroy him.” The houndoom barked as it materialised from the red light, its horns lowered, prepared for battle. “Seismic Toss!” “Smokescreen!” The machoke launched forward, but was now gripped in Amicus’s smoke. Where was he? “Foresight, Machoke!” “Thunder Fang!” Machoke’s eyes glowed, and it began to see through the smoke. But not fast enough. Amicus, his fangs bright with flickering electricity, launched himself into the back of Machoke. Sparks flew and Machoke squirmed, unable to release itself from the powerful jaw of houndoom. “Hold on, Amicus!” Determination seared in Amicus’s eyes. It was not going to let go. It was not going to falter. No matter how much his prey squirmed, there would be no relent. No mercy. Machoke squirmed in pain as the electricity ran through his body, paralysing and weakening him. And fell. Amicus stood triumphant, proudly towering over the defeated machoke. Lew grimaced as he opened his master ball to return his machoke. On the side, Gary crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, fascinated that a newcomer’s pokémon could defeat a veteran’s. “I’ve got to admit, Watson, that houndoom of yours is pretty tough. But, not tough enough. Go, probopass!” A giant pokémon with an abnormally large red nose and metallic skin emerged. At the top of its head was a thick crimson disc, and beneath its nose, a bushy moustache. “Probopass, Magnet Bomb!” “Dodge it, Amicus!” Probopass opened its mouth and released a large sphere of silver light, which rapidly headed for Amicus. Amicus admirably dodged to the side, and the ball went into the distance. And curved around. It now approached Amicus from behind with increasing speed, ready to strike him down. Amicus darted away, but was too slow. The ball of energy struck Amicus to the ground, causing him to slide painfully across the floor to be in front of Probopass. “Flamethrower!” “Discharge!” A burst of spectacular fire released itself from Amicus’s mouth, and Probopass released an incredible explosion of yellow energy. Both strikes hit the other at point-blank range; Amicus was thrown across the room; Probopass was pushed back, and had char marks across its body. Amicus rose. And fell. He struggled on the ground, weakened by the electricity of Probopass. “Finish him off. Magnet Bomb!” Probopass released another sphere of energy from its mouth, which rapidly locked on to Amicus, and pushed him yet further across the room. He was badly injured and paralysed now. But, he refused to give up, strain etched in every feature in his face. “Amicus, you don’t have to keep fighting,” Watson assured, in an almost soft tone. The houndoom gave a weak, dismissive grunt, and sent a burst of fire through the air towards the enemy probopass. Watson had to admire his pokémon’s strength and determination. The stream of fire faltered halfway to probopass, and Amicus could finally stand no more, and slumped to the ground in exhaustion. He slowly closed his eyes for a well-earned rest. Watson flashed Amicus a short smile, and withdrew him to his purple ball. Lew looked immensely satisfied. Gary rose. “Incredible, Watson. Absolutely incredible. You took down a powerful machoke, and your houndoom is certainly quite the determined one. Tomorrow, we’ll see what you can do with a third pokémon.” “Hey – Gary, I was the one who won! And I was limiting myself to half the pokémon I actually have!” “True, but you have had two years of experience, Lew. It won’t be long before he will be victorious against you.” Watson smirked. It seemed he had earned the notice of a very experienced pokémon trainer, Gary, and had nearly toppled someone who had far more experience than he. He realised he was approaching his goal, ever faster now. True power. |
Oh, lookie here. I come back online to Pokecommunity and have two posts to read. Just two things...
Quote:
And two, I must say that I think you've improved on your descriptions, and slowed down. Walter's really starting to become mushy and touchy-feely with his Pokemon now, isn't he? I'm not sure why, but it seemed a little excessive - a little much in too little time. But, I have to say, I've sorely missed this story. Good ta see ya back. |
I enjoyed the read, even if I read it QUITE late.
Maybe this 'bump' in the thread list will help. Take care. |
Acrutheo hasn't been on the forum in over a year. Even still, you shouldn't bump threads that over a month old.
Thread closed. |
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