The PokéCommunity Forums

The PokéCommunity Forums (https://www.pokecommunity.com/index.php)
-   Fan Fiction & Writing (https://www.pokecommunity.com/forumdisplay.php?f=20)
-   -   Pokémon ROOTS // Professorfic (https://www.pokecommunity.com/showthread.php?t=225657)

Haruka of Hoenn July 13th, 2010 11:30 AM

Roots // Professorfic
 
ROOTS // Professorfic





INTRO //

Hey everyone. This is a little idea I had a while ago, and I think it needs a certain introduction before we begin.

As the title says, this is a Professorfic. Specifically, it's about the childhood of Professor Rowan, and how he grew up to be the person he is today. The games/canon gave absolutely no information about this whatsoever, so I had a lot of creative room to work with. The result was, for better or worse, the thread you see today.

Rating: PG-13 for swearing. That's pretty much it, but if there's ever an exception, I'll let you know.

Chapter sequence: I label each chapter as a decimal, so whatever number it is, just imagine the decimal point moving one place to the left. Chapter 1 is written as Chapter 0.1, Chapter 2 is Chapter 0.2, and so on. This means that Chapter 10 will be Chapter 1.0. (Chapter 0.5 is not half a chapter!)


A NOTE ON CULTURE AND TECHNOLOGY //

This story is set in 1963, so there will be some obvious differences between it and a story set in today's world. Obviously, people in 1963 didn't have all the super-cool gadgetry we (and therefore, the trainers in the games) have today, but I think that makes the story all the more interesting.

About songs. I don't like to put much music in the writing in general, but some chapters are the exception. What you have to know is that I do take some liberties pertaining to release dates. The story is set in 1963, but a lot of awesome songs were released after that, and I think they set the mood perfectly for some scenes, so I use them. When I do, I'll make sure to put the real release date in an author's note, for those who are interested.

The essence of this fic is based on the games, especially certain characters and situations within them. It's supposed to be a story of how the young Rowan grew up to be a professor, but really, it's much more. I will sometimes stray from the common geography of Sinnoh and its towns for the sake of the story, so if you notice a particular thing that doesn't seem to be in its correct place, rest assured, because everything is 100% intentional.

And here... we... go!

0.1

For the people of Sinnoh, summer 1963 was the peak of the year. Temperatures soared well into the 90s, sending half of the country’s inhabitants indoors, and the other half outside. Newspapers and televisions broadcasted the heat of the Space Race, an ongoing competition between them and the Hoenn region, which raised both passion and controversy worldwide. Citizens marveled at the newly-refined pokéball, which was booming in sales, both for trainers and for average people. It was, at the first glance, a summer like any other. But it would also be the one to change Sinnoh forever.

May 17th began like any other day for Jubilife — a city that, even then, was already a teeming metropolis. Its jagged skyline basked under the full glare of the Southern sun, cutting a striking silhouette that dominated the lowlands around it. Cars cruised along the network of streets, flashing sleek, bulky frames and vibrant colors. People strolled at leisurely paces, dressed in the colorful, casual style that had taken hold of the new generation.

Deep in the downtown area, at the edge of a busy intersection, stood a small newsstand, one of many that dotted the city. A crowd larger than the usual size was gathered around it, waving copies of Sinnoh Post in the air, their voices a chorus of anger and awe. The rows of baskets arranged around the stand were rapidly being depleted as hands grabbed for the issues, unfurling them to reveal the same cover image — a round, gray sphere dotted with craters, beneath the title: “Hoenn Spacecraft Captures the Moon.” The picture dominated the whole side of the street, fanned out in front of readers’ heads, and held aloft in the air by dozens of debaters who carried on heated arguments.

Near the baskets stood the scattered remnants of a line, a group of people who were impatient to learn what all the fuss was about. One lady who managed to push her way to the front reached into one of the baskets and grabbed the last issue that remained. She unfolded it and gasped as she read the front cover. “Well I’ll be. They’ve done it again!”

“What is it?” asked a man behind her. The lady shook her hand in dismay and handed him the issue.

“Looks like they’ve stepped up their game,” she said.

The man opened up to the cover story and scanned the text. His face soon fell into the same expression of betrayal that was reflected all around him. “That blasted Hoenn… always one step ahead of us.” He placed the issue back without buying it.

“Don’t worry!” piped up a young boy beside them. “We’ll beat ‘em! Pictures of the moon, that’s nothing! We’ll put a man on there one day!”

There was a chorus of cheers and applause at this. A portion of the crowd left with copies of the newspaper in hand, and newcomers began to arrive in their place. By the end of the day, everyone would know.



In another part of town, well beyond the hubbub of the city center, was a quiet suburban area, the likes of which were cropping up around most major Sinnoh cities. It surrounded the downtown in a ring, a miniskirt of flowery nature and planned development, where life moved at a relaxed, efficient pace.

This was the home of the only middle school in West Jubilife — a collection of brick buildings whose design dated back to the ‘40s, and whose subsequent renovations through the years gave it a worn, semi-modern look. An ancient bell was suspended above the main office, a relic of rusty metal, its glint dull in the sun’s glare. The students and faculty were all indoors, leaving the school’s grassy yards empty and quiet. For the most part, at least.

In a far-flung corner of one of the playgrounds, a hedge rustled. There was another moment of stillness, then the motion repeated, this time dislodging several leaves from the already-thinning crown. Tufts of dark fur shifted beneath the leaves. Moments later, a head poked out of a gap between the branches, revealing the face of a Stunky.

His purple and beige coloring blended well with the patterns of light and shade, though his presence was given away by the tiny bush, which shook even from the smallest of motions and scraped dryly against the wall beside it. Every time he heard the noise, his ears perked, then flattened again. Black eyes darted back and forth across the landscape, as if diligently searching for something in the depths of the playground.

For a few minutes, the only sound was the creak of swings rocking with the wind.

Then, a single cry sliced through the silence.

"THERE IT IS! GET IT, GET IT!"

Something large and metal hit the ground with a clang, missing the Stunky’s body by inches. In a snap, the pokémon sprang out of the hedge and sprinted off as fast as he could, clawing across grass and gravel. The pounding of footsteps behind him shook the ground, drowning out the quivers of his heart. After a frenzied search, his eyes locked on a target — a garbage can that stood against a wall. When he reached it at last, the Stunky skid to a halt and made to turn behind it. But there was already someone waiting there.

"Gotcha!"

A pair of hands shot out and grabbed the pokémon by the tail, locking around it in an iron grip. Before he could react, a strange force lifted his legs from the ground, breaking his contact with the tangible world and casting him off into empty air. He clawed and kicked in an attempt to pull himself back, but the world seemed to spin and tilt of its own accord, and somewhere in the muddled blur he could see the ground receding, the clumps of dirt growing smaller and smaller…



//////



Michael Rowan stood up slowly. His smile was wide, and there was a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. He hoisted the Stunky up into the air like a fresh kill, ignoring its squeals and flails.

From the other side of the playground, two other boys ran to catch up with him. The first was blond and bespectacled. The second was a bit taller, and carried a large net. Upon seeing the squirming Stunky, he let it drop to the ground.

"Man... how did you catch that thing?" he panted, wiping a film of sweat from his forehead.

"Yeah, that must have been, like, seventy miles per hour!" said the first boy.

Michael gave a shrug. "Stunkies are stupid. They can run fast and everything, but all you have to do is scare them a couple times, and they’ll corner themselves." He lowered the pokémon to the side, still taking care to hold it away from his body, and dusted off his shirt. "Well that was a good use of eleven minutes. It was nice hunting with you today. Cory. Brendan."

The boys all shook hands, nodding at each other like military officials. Their arms were covered with dirt, leaves, and bruises, earned from many months of outdoor adventures. Steering clear of the distant windows, they began to stroll around the yard, watching the Stunky hang from Michael’s outstretched arm and claw at the empty air. Whenever one of the boys leaned in too close, the Stunky would lash out at him, making all three of them jump back.

“Looks like we got a feisty one,” the blond boy, Cory, remarked.

Brendan lowered his head so that his eyes were level with the pokémon’s. “He looks hungry. I bet if we let him loose in the cafeteria he’d clear all the tables like a lawnmower!” He extended his index finger and brought it to the Stunky’s face. “Here, Stunky, Stunky…”

The Stunky began to growl, and just as Brendan was about to touch its nose, a cage of glinting teeth snapped at his finger, making him pull back at once. But paradoxically, this intrigued the boys all the more, and they stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to form a triangle around it. After surveying the upside-down Stunky from various angles, Cory reached from behind to poke one of its ears. He had hardly made contact for a second before the Stunky jerked its head up to face him.

Cory withdrew his hand in a flash. “Whoa!”

Brendan snickered. “Ha, you got scared!”

Cory, who had hidden his finger behind his other palm in reflex, lowered his arms with a scowl. “Shut up! You try it, if you’re so smart.”

Brendan brought his finger close to the Stunky’s head and wavered with it in the air, trying to find the right moment to strike.

Observing his friends’ antics, Michael smiled. "See, I told you this would be better than history!”

Cory found a pebble on the pavement and began to scrape it with his shoe. “Yeah, I’m sick of learning about this stupid country. It’s always the same crap every year about freedom and cooperation, then they spend the last four months lecturing us about the modern government. As if I care what some wacked-up people did in some stupid meetings a thousand years ago. I mean, I wasn’t even there.”

“Yeah,” Brendan agreed. "Mr. Caesar's a total dipstick. He doesn't even know what he's talking about, all he does is give us work."

“He’s a talking textbook. He’s been parroting everything the authors said this whole chapter.” Michael narrowed his eyes, scanning the colony of box-like buildings in the distance. “He probably hasn’t even noticed we’re gone yet. He’s still busy picking through his lunch. And those summaries will probably take everyone at least another fifteen minutes to finish.”

Brendan made a face. “Man, I’m sick of those. He sent me another letter a couple days ago just for missing three of them. I had to get up early to take it from the mailbox, because my parents said if they get another one, they’ll send me to summer school.”

Michael snorted. “I say we egg his house on the first day of break. One for every letter. That should brighten him up a bit.”

Cory laughed. "That would be so cool! I heard another group of kids was gonna do the same for Mrs. Stanton. And they were gonna spray paint her car."

“We should so do that,” Michael said. “And it's not like we'll get in trouble either, ‘cause no one can give detentions over summer."

"Yeah."

The boys’ last few smiles subsided, and as one, their gazes fell on the Stunky. The pokémon was rocking listlessly like a pendulum, probably realizing the futility of its position. After a brief silence, Cory tilted his head.

"So what're we gonna do with him?"

“We should bring him to lunch tomorrow,” said Brendan. “Or no — how about on the last day of school? It would be the best prank ever!”

“But then we’ll need a place to keep him.”

Brendan paused. “We could tie him to a pole.”

“Yeah, and who’s gonna guard him? Some kiss-up will set him free.”

“Not if we put him somewhere hidden. We could use one of those storage sheds by the basketball courts, and spray everything with musk so no one will come near it.”

Michael nodded. “That should be pretty easy. I bet we just have to scare him into doing it.” He looked down at the motionless Stunky. "Come on ugly! Is that all you've got?"

"Shake him a little," Brendan suggested.

Michael bit his lip and shook the pokémon from side to side. When nothing happened, he shook it harder, until the Stunky's torso became a blur. Right then, there was a loud squirting sound, and a dim green gas shot out to engulf the three boys’ heads. It billowed around them like car exhaust, making them double over in spasms of coughing. The smell reminded Michael of rotten eggs, and nearly made him drop the Stunky in an attempt to cover his face.

"Eugh! It smells worse than my socks!" Brendan wheezed. He stumbled away from the cloud, fanning the air with his hand.

Cory looked down at his shirt, which had been white before, but was now coated with a greenish-brown film. He tried to brush it off, but the particles were embedded in the fabric. "Man! Isn't this smell supposed to last for days or something?"

"Weeks, actually," Michael corrected, his nose buried under his shirt collar. As the gas cloud cleared around them, he moved the Stunky as far from his face as possible, keeping steady against its squirms.

Cory grimaced. “Well that was stupid. Now if they find him, they’re gonna know it’s us!”

"Hang on. I think my mom knows how to get this stuff off,” Brendan said, as he examined his clothes. “I’ll just tell her it was an accident and she’ll clean all three of us.”

“I guess that works.” Cory crossed his arms, and as he watched the Stunky flail around, he smiled. “Now that it already sprayed us, though, we might as well have some fun with it. Let’s dunk its head in the toilet next!”

Brendan grinned. “Then we’ll bring it to lunch!”

Michael smiled as he thought this over, but as he looked at the Stunky some more, he shook his head. "Nah, we gotta be more creative. The cafeteria’s too big, and he might get too scared to make a mess of it. Why don't we bring him home and use him for experiments? He’ll last us much longer, and we’ll be able to do whatever we want with him after.”

"Hah, yeah! We'll be like those badass scientists in the newspaper," Cory said. "We’ll do surgery on him and try to clone him and stuff!”

Brendan clapped his hands together. “And after we’ve fixed him up a bit, we can train him so he’ll do whatever we tell him! Forget the cafeteria — next year we can make him mess with the whole school! He’ll be a Super Stunky. We’ll have loads of time over break to plan everything out and get our supplies together. All we need is a cage.”

"Good idea!" Michael beamed. "We'll go to the hardware store and get us a cage." He brought the Stunky close to his face and gave it a playful rattle. "Did you hear that, little fella? You're coming home with us."

The Stunky shivered.

"BOYS!"

A shrill voice pierced the air like a dagger, and instantly, all three heads turned in the direction of the sound. Through his still-smarting eyes, Michael saw a woman exit the school building. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was descending the stairs as fast as her two-inch heels would allow.

Cory turned back, his eyes wide. "Teacher!"

Michael groaned. "Shit! We have to get out of here!"

"Are you kidding? We'll be in even more trouble!" Brendan said.

"That's if we get caught, now let’s go!" With the Stunky in hand, Michael turned and sprinted away.

He was a pretty decent runner for his age, able to outrun nearly every boy in his class. The only person who was faster had been his older brother, Richard. They'd always be having races, before he left.

Michael's eyes remained fixed on the fence as he ran, narrowing on a row of trees. Beyond them was the open street, a direct path into the city that bypassed all the school’s protective zones. He had discovered it two years ago, and it never failed him.

"GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!" the woman shrieked, but her voice quickly faded into the distance.

"Fat chance," Michael whispered to himself.

He neared the fence in a few second's time. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, using the diamond-shaped gaps as handholds, and with the Stunky still in hand, pushed himself over the edge. Cory and Brendan followed suit, crashing down beside him. When they had all landed safely, Michael jumped to his feet.

"Now RUN!" He tightened his grip on the Stunky's tail and, without a second thought, sped off towards freedom.




//////



Three days later, Michael sat in a quiet classroom, his eyes cast downward. The desk's surface was blackened from years of carving, which he idly traced with his fingers, following the messy patterns that past students had left. His mother, Patricia, sat beside him. Her back was stiff and her hands were folded in her lap, her classical business posture. To his left, a large window gave a glimpse of a happy outside world. Michael yearned with all his heart to be there, but it seemed that the authority figures had other plans.

Mrs. Maxwell's desk was a little island at the head of the classroom. Unlike everything else in the room, her things weren’t dirty or worn-down. All her papers were in their proper places, and she even had separate folders for each period, which she replaced every new year when the old ones had fulfilled their purpose. She never ate in class, so there were no lingering odors around her desk.

Mrs. Maxwell had greeted them in her usual calm mood, though she still looked a little crabby after the chase. Michael watched her scribble something onto a piece of paper for a minute, then slam the pencil back into the holder. When she rose from her seat, her chair rolled off towards the wall.

"Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. And for someone of his intelligence!" She planted herself on a wooden stool that stood before her desk, facing them both.

"What did he do this time, Barbara?" Patricia asked, more tired than angry. She was fidgeting with the gold chain around her neck. After all the times Michael had been called in, the two women had become so familiar that they addressed each other by their first names.

"I caught Michael skipping class on Tuesday with two other boys. I went to look for them, and I found them in the playground, harassing a wild Stunky." Mrs. Maxwell fixed her gaze on Michael, who made a valiant effort not to look back. After bolting from school that previous day, neither he nor his friends had heard anything about their misconduct. Yet, when they walked into their first-period class, all three found a notice waiting on their desk, informing them that they were called in for a conference sometime during the week. Brendan and Cory were able to get theirs over with on Wednesday and Thursday, and wash the smell off of themselves and their clothes. As usual, Michael was the only one left waiting.

Upon hearing Mrs. Maxwell's words, Patricia let out a sad sigh. For a moment, Michael wondered if she was about to cry. And as much as he hated to admit it, it scared him a little. His mother wasn't the crying type. But then again, there were still a lot of things he didn't know about her.

"I don't like to deal with these things, Patricia," Mrs. Maxwell continued. "The first time, well okay, maybe he just didn't know his place. The second time, well, I'll have him clean the desks after class. I can even excuse a third for a kid like him, but this is simply intolerable. We've tried every single punishment under the sun — cleaning, writing lines, but nothing seems to be getting to him. I read the rules to my classes on the first day of every year. I always tell them that after they've caused enough trouble, the next step is suspension. So, it hurts me to say this, but I will have to suspend your son for the remainder of the school year."

She paused to let the words sink in. Michael puffed out his cheeks, waiting to be overcome by some sort of emotional response. But the truth was, he didn't feel anything. The word 'suspension' had lost meaning to him a while ago. And besides, it was only one week. What could be so unfathomably important that he simply had to be at school to see it? The last days consisted of nothing but free periods, since teachers were all busy with their grade books and assignment records. They couldn't assign any more work either, since it would only add to the things they themselves had to do. So what else was there to miss? A party?

Michael stole a sideways glance at his mother, readying himself for tears or an angry glare, but saw her to be perfectly calm. She was staring ahead with a pensive expression, her chin resting in her hands.

"It's not your fault, Patricia," Mrs. Maxwell was quick to say.

Michael grumbled. The only thing he hated more than conferences was the invisible rule that everyone there seemed to adhere to — it is always the student's fault.

Meanwhile, Patricia had begun to shake her head slowly, as if she was just as confused as Mrs. Maxwell was. "I try, I really do... but I just don't know what's gotten into him."

Mrs. Maxwell managed a small smile. "It really hurts me to do this, Patricia. Especially since his grades are perfect. What I’m starting to wonder is if there could be any outside sources that are causing his bad behavior. How is your relationship with Michael?"

Patricia looked startled by the question. "Fine!"

"How often do you converse?"

"I try to talk with him as often as I can. But it seems like he doesn't want anything to do with me."

Partially true, Michael thought. The only times he didn't like his mother were when she tried to make conversation that didn't want to be made, gluing a fake smile to her face and asking him about things she never used to care about. She did that more often nowadays, so he responded likewise.

Mrs. Maxwell continued. "Has Michael ever shown any interest in extracurricular activities? The science club? Debate team?"

Patricia shook her head again. "No. I offered it to him, but he refused."

"You know, kids who are enrolled in afterschool clubs or weekend activities tend to have better performances in school, and a better attitude overall. So, maybe it's time to consider something for your son." For the first time during the meeting, both women turned to look at Michael.

"Well, Michael? What do you have to say?"

"Science club is for geeks," he said simply. "I don't want to build a rocket out of a plastic bottle. I'd rather have the real thing."

Mrs. Maxwell sighed. She went back to her desk and took a long sip from her water bottle. "Well, then there's very little I can recommend for you, Michael. The point of school clubs is, sort of, to let kids experience real-world concepts in a classroom setting.”

“Which is boring,” Michael replied.

Mrs. Maxwell gave a nod, registering his response. She turned to address Patricia. “What about at home? Are there any problems there that may be causing Michael stress? That can often cause someone to act up in school."

Patricia's eyes widened. "Of course not! Not that I know of, at least."

"What about you, Michael? Do you have anything to add?"

"No." Nothing I'd say to you, that is.

Mrs. Maxwell nodded again. She did this so frequently, it reminded him of a bobblehead. "Another thing I've been noticing over time is that a source for bad behavior can often lie in the type of friends someone has." Her eyes trailed off towards the ceiling, then came down to find Michael.

Instantly, he did a double-take. Cory and Brendan were his two best friends, and nothing would ever change that. They had met on the third day of school after finding themselves in the same detention room.

That day, Michael had brought a pack of water balloons to school, hoping to liven up the usually boring recess hour. Little did he know, two other boys had been thinking the exact same thing. When none of the teachers had been looking, they had each fled individually from the yard and snuck into the nearest building to fill the balloons. They were fighting over water fountain privileges when a teacher came and caught them all.

"Great minds think alike, I suppose," Michael had said, and a bond was forged.

From that day on, he, Cory, and Brendan sat together at lunch, during lessons, and on the bus. Though the two boys didn't get good grades, and couldn't understand half of their homework, Michael enjoyed being in their company. They would meet on the weekends to play sports in the backyard. On rare occasions, they wandered around the downtown with whatever allowance their parents gave them. They'd also pull pranks on people they didn't like, but it was always something small, like a fake letter or a quarter stuck to the ground. Sure they goofed off in class sometimes, but who didn't?

"My friends are normal!" Michael countered, staring at Mrs. Maxwell in disbelief. "I don't care about their grades! And you're the one who's always talking about rights. What happened to everyone being equal?"

Mrs. Maxwell shook her head sadly. "You are who your friends are, Michael. I think that if you spent your time with the responsible people at this school, you'd be more responsible yourself."

"So you'd rather have me make friends with the dweebs in the science club just because I have the 'potential'?"

"Don't talk back to her, Michael! She knows what she's talking about!" Patricia immediately came to Mrs. Maxwell's defense. Still no surprise there.

"But my grades are perfect! Look, she even said so herself!"

"It's not just about grades, Mike! It's about your entire personality! Before you entered middle school, you were a sweet little boy. Now look at you! When was the last time you washed your hair?"

Michael reached up and found a small black tuft that hung limp on his forehead. He combed his fingers back, feeling the strands shift and twist away. They were soft, though a bit dirty from all his time spent outside.

"My hair's fine!" Michael sank back into his seat, his cheeks reddening.

For a few moments, Mrs. Maxwell did not speak. Her eyes moved back and forth between the many posters on her back wall. They depicted moronic phrases like "Reading makes you a better person!" and "Bully-free Zone!" She seemed to be weighing an idea on her tongue, arranging and processing it before speaking.

"If you’re still willing to consider an extracurricular activity, Ms. Rowan, I think I have something that might be a good fit. It’s almost summer again… and that means the Pokémon League’s starting another season." Michael closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "Kids from all over Sinnoh will be coming to get their starter pokémon from Professor Emerson. Maybe you could take Michael this year.”

Patricia made no response.

"I know it’s not typically the kind of activity thirteen-year-olds get into, but considering that Michael’s a self-motivated type of learner, and seems to prefer real-world applications to studying for exams, traveling and battling Gyms might be more a benefit to him than school clubs. There are lots of kids in the lower grades who’ve battled Gyms during summer vacations, and from what I’ve heard from their parents, it had a great impact on their character."

Patricia shook her head. "I don't know... he can be so reckless sometimes, that I just don't know... That Stunky... what if the same thing happens to his starter?"

"Perhaps having his own pokémon will teach him a thing or two about responsibility. You and Michael can raise the pokémon together, and then whenever you feel he's ready, you can take him to get his trainer card and he can start collecting badges.”

Patricia looked over to Michael, who shrugged. "I don't want a starter."

"And why not?" asked Mrs. Maxwell.

"Because it's a scam."

Mrs. Maxwell began to shake her head, a laugh escaping her lips. Patricia joined in, probably out of guilt. But to Michael, it made perfect sense. The little he knew about the Pokémon League was enough to convince him of its shadiness. Obviously, people who gave out free pokémon would be expecting something in return — if not money, then at least a contract. Would it involve pledging himself to them? Would he have to advertise their company? Were they just using kids as pawns to raise pokémon to their full power, them demanding them to be returned? The possibilities were endless. Michael stared at the palms of his hands for a while, caught in a loop of thought.

"Michael, how could it possibly be a scam?" Mrs. Maxwell said. "It's such a great learning opportunity. Think about it, we spent all year talking about the different species of pokémon, and this summer, you'll be able to have hands-on experience with them! It’ll make classes much more interesting for you."

"I don't want one, I already told you."

"You know, I think we should try this year," Patricia said, giving her son a glare. Michael's heart sank. If something had his mother's approval, it would happen no matter what. "Maybe it's the fact that he's never had a pokémon of his own that causes him to misbehave around them."

"I hope I'm right!" Mrs. Maxwell let out a cackle. Apparently, it was supposed to be funny.

By some invisible trigger, the two women rose and shook hands, officially ending the meeting. Patricia turned to leave, but before Michael could follow, Mrs. Maxwell put a hand on his shoulder and held him back.

"You're a smart kid, Michael," she whispered. "Don't waste your talents."

There was something in her eyes that he couldn't decipher. Hope? Forethought? She patted him on the shoulder, and he walked off without another word.



//////



The Rowans were lucky enough to have a house just outside the city, instead of being bottled up in an apartment like so many others were. It was back from the days when the family had money, when Michael's father was still alive and his two brothers, Richard and Brian, were still living with them. Michael secretly referred to them as the good days, though there had been nothing good about them at all. With three family members gone, all that was left were two strangers.

The house had two floors. Michael's bedroom was separate from the others — a cozy loft placed just above the kitchen. It had one large window overlooking his tiny backyard, and walls that were covered with posters. His shelves were overflowing with records, board games, and other random objects that had amassed through the years. It was nothing to be proud of, but a room was a room.

The first thing Michael did after coming home was slam his door and flop down onto his bed. He threw his backpack onto the ground, letting all the junk inside spill out.

Suspended for the rest of the year... what kind of idiot does that? And she even said that I get good grades. Moron. Even worse, now I have to survive a drive all the way to Sandgem to get some stupid pokémon from some guy I've never even heard of before. Why can't Mom just suck it up and accept the fact that she can’t control my life?

"Sku sku!"

His train of thought was interrupted by a muffled screech. Michael sprang up.

"Shit!" he whispered. He ran over to his closet and slid open the doors.

The Stunky was still there, in the cage he had bought from a hardware store. It was circling the perimeter uncertainly, its tail quivering. When it saw him, the Stunky let out an accusing growl.

"Shut up, shut up!" Michael kicked the cage, and the pokémon shrank back into a corner. He hadn’t told his mother that he had kept the Stunky, and was very careful to keep it hidden until he could sneak it out. Patricia was the biggest pro-pokémon rights person he had ever seen, and if she ever found out, there was no telling what could happen.

By the perfect stroke of luck, Patricia's voice sounded from downstairs. "Mike? Is everything all right?"

Michael looked at the Stunky one last time, giving it the sharpest, coldest glare he could manage, and closed the doors. Seconds later, Patricia entered the room, holding a metal tray and a kitchen towel.

"Yeah, everything's fine." He stepped away from the closet and sat down in his chair.

"What was that screech I heard?"

"Don't know. Probably something outside."

Patricia smiled a little. "Well, okay. Dinner will be ready soon. And I want you to go to bed straight after that."

Michael lifted an eyebrow. "Why?" Though he already knew what her next words would be, it was a good stalling tactic.

"I'll be driving you to Sandgem tomorrow. You'll be getting your starter. Come on, you already know this. You heard your teacher."

Michael didn’t hide his grimace. "She only said that to make you happy. I don't want a starter. It's all a freaking scam!"

"It is not a scam, Michael. It teaches you responsibility. This has been one conference too many. It's time you started thinking about your future and what you want to do with your life. I don't want you ending up a failure like..." Patricia paused, her lips pursed. "I don't want you ending up a failure at all, okay? No more arguments. I'll call you when the food's ready." With that, she turned to leave.

When the coast was clear, Michael jumped out of his chair and slid open the closet doors. The Stunky was peering at him through the bars, scared, but silent. He sighed with relief.

"That was a close one. You better keep quiet from now on, you little cretin. Hear me?" As he began to close the doors, the Stunky began to whimper. With a groan, Michael slid one open again and looked down at the pokémon.

"What now?"

No answer.

"Are you bored?" he asked.

The Stunky blinked.

"Are you tired?"

The Stunky blinked again. Its gaze was fixed on him, unwavering.

"Are you hungry?" he tried again.

The Stunky growled. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Too bad."

And then he closed the door.

Bay July 15th, 2010 2:55 PM

I have to say, this is interesting so far. :) Haha, didn’t think Rowan would be a rebellious type. Poor Stunky! D: In the games, he may have an intimidating air to him, but he’s actually nice in the games. Then again, I guess he’ll have character development later in the story, which we’ll see later on.

Another thing I like about this chapter is you mention the children in Sinnoh start their journey at nine while Rowan is thirteen and the teacher thinking he’ll have a huge disadvantage. Hm, usually a lot of people either have the trainers start their journey in their teens (which is sorta breaking canon unless you’ll do a story base on Black and White) or in ages ten or eleven. It’s plausible the children can start at nine, considering there’s a lot of Youngsters in the game.

One thing I want to mention is how after the Skunty released his gas at the boys they didn’t complain about themselves being smelly. You did mention though they washed themselves after, so at least they did something about it. XD

Another thing is I would think Rowan would be interested in history, considering in the games he mentions about the legend of Sinnoh to the kids. I guess either the story of the legend of Sinnoh is moreso a myth and not history to him or he’ll be interested in Sinnoh’s history/legend later on in the story.

Well, off to a good start so far! Can’t wait for the next chapter! :)

Haruka of Hoenn July 16th, 2010 7:57 AM

Quote:

I have to say, this is interesting so far. :) Haha, didn’t think Rowan would be a rebellious type. Poor Stunky! D: In the games, he may have an intimidating air to him, but he’s actually nice in the games. Then again, I guess he’ll have character development later in the story, which we’ll see later on.
The story will center around how Michael transforms himself, in a way. That's what I love about writing this; I've never written a character like Michael's before.

Quote:

Another thing I like about this chapter is you mention the children in Sinnoh start their journey at nine while Rowan is thirteen and the teacher thinking he’ll have a huge disadvantage. Hm, usually a lot of people either have the trainers start their journey in their teens (which is sorta breaking canon unless you’ll do a story base on Black and White) or in ages ten or eleven. It’s plausible the children can start at nine, considering there’s a lot of Youngsters in the game.
I made the legal age to own a Pokemon to be nine, but the trainers don't actually start their journey until they get a Trainer Card. In the little world I built here, parents can order Trainer Cards for their children at any age, but kids can't enter the League until they actually have them. I'll clarify all this in later chapters, but I'm glad you noticed that.

Quote:

One thing I want to mention is how after the Skunty released his gas at the boys they didn’t complain about themselves being smelly. You did mention though they washed themselves after, so at least they did something about it. XD
Yeah... when you've got an angry teacher chasing you, you've got to have priorities :P

So, thanks for the review! Glad you like it so far :)

Haruka of Hoenn July 20th, 2010 7:07 AM

Chapter two! Enjoy. (It's one of the shorter ones. Gradually, they'll increase in length, but you'll have to bear with me for a while.)

0.2

The next morning, Michael was woken by a loud tapping on his door, followed by a shout from his mother.

"Michael, wake up! Come down for breakfast, I don't want you to be late!"

He pulled the covers over his burning eyes, shielding them from the outside light. From the confines of his closet, he heard the Stunky shuffling around, and from downstairs, the clatter of silverware. Morning sounds.

Here goes nothing...

Taking a deep breath, Michael threw off the covers and sprang to his feet, ignoring the rush of dizziness that followed. He threw on a random combination of clothes — faded jeans, and a T-shirt that advertised a long-forgotten brand. After giving the Stunky's cage a good kick to remind it to keep quiet, Michael descended the stairs.

Patricia awaited him behind the kitchen counter, already fully dressed and made up. She greeted him with a smile.

"Eat up, Mike. You have a big day ahead of you." She gestured towards the table, which held an assortment of steaming plates that looked like they could have fed three people.

A series of snide remarks ran through Michael's mind, conveniently arranged for him to choose. But he managed to remain silent while he ate, figuring it would only make things worse if he talked back. Michael forced down some bacon and eggs, took a few bites from an apple, and was packed away into the car in a matter of minutes. He turned his head away towards the window as his mother sat down beside him, hoping to stretch the silence through the entire ride. But as always, Patricia had other plans. Upon starting the car, she immediately sighed and began to gush.

"Oh, Michael, you have no idea how long I've waited for this day to come! You, getting your first pokémon and raising it all by yourself..."

"Mrs. Maxwell said you had to help me," Michael pointed out.

But Patricia was too caught up in her monologue to notice. "Aw, you'll be able to handle it, Mike, I know you will! So which one will you choose? They have a selection of three. They're all very adorable. I went to get a brochure, and I saw their pictures. Apparently, they’re really rare to find in the wild, but the lab breeds their own so they never have to be taken from their natural habitats. The League chose them specifically because the species are monotypes, and because their higher evolutions have a wide range of abilities. Um, what were they called again? I think they were... Turtwig, Chimchar, and Piplup? Yes, that's right! Turtwig, Chimchar, and Piplup. Has a nice ring to it! Don't you think so? Turtwig, Chimchar, Piplup... Turtwig, Chimchar, Piplup... Turtwig, Chimchar, Piplup..."

It went on like this for another one hour, twenty-seven minutes. By the time they left the highway and the trees that lined the road had cleared to reveal a sunny town, Michael's brain was fried from counting and the car's engine was sputtering.

"Well, here it is! Sandgem Town!" Patricia beamed, as they passed a billboard welcoming them in big, colorful letters. Michael lifted his cheek from the car window, his head heavy. But almost as soon as he laid eyes on the town, Michael knew he had seen all there was to see.

Sandgem, as he expected, was far less populated than Jubilife. It consisted more of open pastures than paved roads, and the tallest structures were wooden windmills with metal roosters perched on top. Houses were widely spaced. To the far south, the horizon was streaked with white sand, forming the beginnings of a beach. The entire place seemed so quiet, so secluded, that Michael wondered how a famous pokémon professor could ever live here.

The Pokémon Research Lab appeared in the middle of nowhere, against a background of puke-green trees. It was a shabby stone building with a large windows, and an urgent need of fresh paint. A large crowd of people was gathered by its door and dotted around the lawn. Michael immediately noticed that it consisted mostly of little boys and girls, who were all scurrying around their parents and talking. There were a few grandparents there as well, and the occasional party balloon. Suddenly, Michael felt very, very stupid.

Patricia pulled into the gate and drove into the property, where countless other cars were lined up by the fence, taking up almost every inch of space. After a good deal of searching, she finally squeezed in on a hillside, partially wedging her car in between two others.

This event must be a pretty big deal, Michael thought as he stepped out. After a lifetime of car exhaust and city pollutants, the sudden onslaught of clean, sweet air was almost gagging.

Patricia joined his side moments later, and took a look around. "Mmmm, isn't it lovely here?" She inhaled, then let out her breath with an aaaaah.

The two began to walk towards the lab, and with each step he took towards the crowd, Michael felt more and more out-of-place. Patricia tried to take his hand, but he immediately yanked it away.

"Will you stop? I know how to walk."

Patricia sighed.

Upon taking his place in line, Michael was pleased to see that no one was paying any particular attention to him. Apparently, the children there were too excited about getting their first pokémon to think about anything else. Michael, who had never bothered with pokémon or pokémon training in his life, knew roughly as much about the Pokémon League as a TV commercial did. He knew the basics, like that it involved traveling around the region to beat Gym leaders, that there was some wigged-up tournament every four years where people competed to become the League Champion, but it didn’t mean all that much to him. If you lived in Jubilife, you didn’t have time for pokémon, simple as that. You were too busy paying bills, keeping your job, building your future. So far, Michael had been perfectly happy living this way, but now it seemed, Patricia wanted to blast him back to preschool.

There was a tall outdoor clock positioned just in front of the lab, where everyone standing in line could see it. It was one of the new digital models, and was programmed to count down instead of up. Every time the timer reached zero, a loud bell rang, and a batch of four or five kids with their parents would rush in through the lab doors. There would be a few seconds of uproar as the crowd shifted forward, then the clock would reset to 5:00 and the chatter would settle down once more.

Through it all, Michael stood with his shoulders hunched, drawing circles in the dirt with his shoes. The other kids were running about and chatting, throwing around rapid, irrelevant questions. Michael ignored them, focusing his attention on the clock's display, watching as it ticked from 5:00 down to 1:00. Ding ding! Four more out of the way.

When at last his portion of the line was called, Patricia escorted him in with a girly squeal. He trailed behind a group of screaming children, letting them push open the doors to the lab.

Inside, the building was spacious and drafty. The walls were adorned with drawings of pokémon, all wearing cartoon-character smiles. The children crowded around a mural of the starters. It was obviously hand painted — the lines were wobbly and the color was smeared and uneven. Nevertheless, the children gazed upon it as if it were a great masterpiece.

The only thing inside the lab that aroused his interest — and also the thing most of the children ignored — was a colorful timeline that ran across the lobby's perimeter. It depicted a brief history of pokémon research, and was decorated with photos, posters detailing facts, and occasionally even relics. Michael ran his eyes over the collection, which covered the years from 2000 B.C. all the way to the present. The current year was left blank, because there was always more to come.

Right then, a loud voice sailed over the chatter.

"Excuse me, excuse me!"

Michael turned to see a short, elderly man shove his way through the crowd. At first, he didn't attach any significance to him, because the man was a head shorter than most of the adults. He wore a white lab coat with the label 'Professor Emerson' stitched onto the pocket. His smile seemed friendly.

"Welcome to my laboratory!" he wheezed. "Children, this way. Parents, may I please ask you to wait in the lobby?"

The parents all obeyed without hesitation, waving as they watched their children go. From somewhere among them, he caught a glimpse of his mother's face. She was smiling directly at him, her eyes dancing. Michael felt his face redden. What was this, a graduation ceremony?

Professor Emerson ushered the kids through a narrow hallway. They carried on their conversations from outside, their voices reduced to excited whispers. And Michael was right in the middle of it. At one point, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"So which one are you getting?" asked a girl with pigtails.

"I don't know," he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the professor's bald spot. He could almost see his own face reflected in it, long and expressionless.

The professor led them into a small room, well distanced from the hubbub of the front lobby. The walls weren't even painted here, and the tiled floor was dirty, despite someone’s evident efforts to scrub it. The children all crowded around a long wooden table. Fortunately, Michael was taller than the rest, so he didn't have to push them out of his way to see what was on it. The table contained three large boxes standing side-by-side. Each contained a different label - 'PIPLUP', 'TURTWIG', and 'CHIMCHAR' - scrawled in black marker.

Michael couldn't help but think: That's it?

The professor stepped behind the table. "All right, kids, ah, pick out whatever one you -"

Before he could finish, the kids leaped forward. A tide of squirming hands rose up towards the boxes, each trying to get the other out of their way.

"Kids, please be patient! You will all get your turn!" Professor Emerson shouted, but to no avail.

One hand clasped firmly around the ridge of the Piplup box and pulled. A second later the box was on the floor, with hundreds of gray pokéballs rolling around the room. The professor grabbed the sides of his head.

"No, no, no! What are you doing? Boys and girls, pick those up right now!"

He was ignored.

"I got dibs on the Piplups!" one boy shouted, and dove down into the pile.

"Hey I wanna go next!" another boy said.

"That's not fair!" the pigtailed girl stamped her foot. "Stop it!"

"Enough!" the professor shouted, his neck cords bulging. "Children, please, form an orderly line in front of the boxes!"

"Hey professor, why does your face go all red when you yell?" another girl said.

The professor's smile was beginning to twitch. "It's a cardiovascular condition. Now please, form a line."

"Is that like your heart?"

"Form a line please!"

"Hey look, I can juggle!" Michael turned his head. A boy had crept up beside the Chimchar box, and was tossing three pokéballs into the air. Several kids began to clap.

"Please, put those down now! Go on, form a line!"

"I wanna juggle too!"

"Me too!"

The professor jumped back as another box was ripped in half. The kids amassed in front of the table, grabbing as many pokéballs as they could hold. Two girls began running around the room, pelting each other. Others were trying to juggle, hitting the ceiling lamps and walls. Meanwhile, the professor was treading through the mess, arms flailing.

"Children, please, calm down! Pick one, just one!"

The Turtwig box was the only one still intact, which two boys were taking care of, gripping it by the edges and tugging it in separate directions. Their game of tug-of-war ended with a loud rrrip, and a fountain of silver pokéballs spilled out onto the floor. Shreds of cardboard drifted to their feet. When Professor Emerson rushed to separate them, he slipped on a pokéball and fell on his side. His yelp was lost in the laughter. Finally, he let out a scream.

"Everyone take a pokémon and OUT!"

The box fell to the floor, and the boys ran off in separate directions.

"OUT! OUT! OUT!"

One by one, the children slowly left the room. One boy skipped away with four pokéballs hidden in his shirt. The professor didn't notice. The last one to go was a weeping girl, who left with nothing at all.

Michael was the only one left, standing amid a room that appeared to have been swept by a hurricane.

Without a word, he stepped forward and extended a hand to Professor Emerson. The man rose to his feet, taking a series of long, deep breaths.

"... Animals... those kids..." He bent over the table and clutched his stomach. "They don't pay me enough to do this... every blasted year the same thing..."

“Sorry ‘bout that," Michael said. "I didn't want to be here anyway. My mom, she only sent me because —”

The professor raised his hand with a grimace. "Look, I don't care, I don't care! Just grab a pokéball and get out."

Michael looked down. The floor was littered with them. The pokéballs were all identical — shiny and metal. He bent down and picked one up. It felt cool in his hands.

Michael looked up at the professor again. "Can I, uh, release it to see what it is? I still want to –"

"Get out!" Emerson yelled. Michael crinkled his nose, and the man sighed. "Just... just get the hell out, kid... I have fifty more waiting outside the lab..."

As Michael stepped towards the exit, the professor turned away. He sat down in a corner and began to light a cigarette.



//////



When Michael reached the lobby, his mother greeted him with a bear hug.

"Well, how was it?" She beamed.

"The kids were crazy. They knocked the professor down and everything."

"Well, kids will be kids! So, which one did you get?"

Michael shrugged. "Don't know. The room was a mess and there were pokéballs everywhere, so the guy just made me pick a random one."

"Oh." Patricia's smile faded a little. Evidently, this wasn't the heartwarming mother-son moment she had been expecting. "Well, let's find out! Is there some special way of releasing it?"

Michael shrugged again and lifted the pokéball up to eye level. The device was entirely smooth, except for a tiny red crank positioned along the center line.

"Try turning that, see what it does," Patricia said.

Michael took a deep breath. He turned the knob with his finger and held the pokéball out at arm's length. The bottom part of the sphere fell down along an inner hinge, revealing a hollow interior. Moments later, a blinding white flash filled the room.

"Aaargh!" Michael slammed his hands over his face, and the pokéball clattered to the floor. All around him, he heard a series of gasps.

"Whoa!" someone shouted.

Michael opened his stinging eyes, and found himself peering down at a runty Turtwig. It looked nothing like its drawing. Its skin was an aquamarine blue instead of the grass green it was painted with, and the sprout on its head was paler than the norm. Its shell was a light brown, and its eyes were yellow. They stared back.

"Tu-tur?" It cocked its head. Michael lowered his hands from his face, revealing a crowd of wide-eyed people surrounding him.

"Your Turtwig's all funny-looking!" said a boy. "Look, mine's a different color than yours!" He pointed to his Turtwig, which was the exact copy of the mural.

"Hey, mine too!" shouted a girl. Another carbon copy stood at her side. Same green skin. Same black eyes. They were staring at him too.

A feeling of dread filled Michael's heart. "You mean... mine's defective?" He looked down at his own Turtwig, not sure what to do. The other kids had begun to laugh. They were younger and less mature than he was. And they were laughing.

Patricia rushed to his side and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Now, now, there is no such thing as a defective pokémon! We'll just go see the professor and ask him about it. Pick him up, Michael."

With great reluctance, Michael lifted the pokémon into his arms. It was light for its size, and looked even more underfed up-close. The people parted as Patricia led him through, but their eyes followed Michael every step of the way, boring into him from all sides.

I have a defective pokémon... a ****ing defective pokémon. And I didn't even want a pokémon.

Patricia rounded the corner and entered the same hallway Michael had left moments ago.

"Where was the room?" she asked, and Michael pointed to the door. When she knocked, Michael heard a faint sigh.

"Come in!" Professor Emerson said, his voice coated with honey. Patricia pushed open the door and entered. The professor was still sitting in his chair, amidst all the rubble. This time he was chewing gum, though the smell of smoke still lingered in the air.

When he saw Michael, his face fell. "Oh, it’s you. What now?"

Patricia stepped forward. "My son here received a Turtwig from you, and it looks different from everyone else's. We were wondering about that." She motioned for Michael to come forward. The Turtwig squealed as he held it up to the light.

Professor Emerson rose from his chair to take a look at the pokémon. He cupped its head in his large hands, his gaze lingering on its oddly-colored skin.

"Hmm... well, yes, there appears to be a slight difference in pigmentation... Eh, it’s inconsequential. Probably a birth defect. Nothing to worry about. You may go now."

Before they had time to protest, Emerson ushered them out of the room. Before he closed the door, he took a quick glance down the hallway.

"If there’s anybody else coming, tell them they can wait." He winked, and shut the door.

Patricia turned to Michael and opened her mouth to speak, probably some predetermined phrase of consolation. Michael groaned. "Whatever. I don't care. Just take me home already." He dropped the Turtwig onto the floor. Then, he reached into his pocket for the pokéball, turned the knob, and watched the bolt of white light suck the creature away.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ July 20th, 2010 9:38 AM

First fan fic review in months:)

Anyway, normally the main character receiving a shiny would be a big red flag. However, it makes perfect sense here since:
1. Shiny Pokemon are a huge mystery at this point in time, and they are regarded as defective.
2. Michael is destined, as we know, to become a researcher.

I figure somewhere down the line, he'll gain interest in why his Turtwig is colored differently, and that'll be (at least part of) what later motivates him to begin researching Pokemon. So throwing something as mysterious and unknown as a shiny Pokemon in his hands works here.

Gotta love Emerson and how he utterly despises his job :P

I could draw parallels between Michael and my own character (you know who she is) since both started at an older age and weren't exactly enthusiastic at first about training, but each of them had very different reasons for why they started training late.

You draw a very interesting picture of Michael Rowan in his early years. You can see his potential to be an excellent researcher by his grades in school and his intelligence, but his attitude and personality looks like they'll go through a huge change throughout the course of the story, and I am looking forward to seeing how that plays out.

Haruka of Hoenn July 20th, 2010 12:40 PM

Hey, welcome back!

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 5986481)
I figure somewhere down the line, he'll gain interest in why his Turtwig is colored differently, and that'll be (at least part of) what later motivates him to begin researching Pokemon. So throwing something as mysterious and unknown as a shiny Pokemon in his hands works here.

That's exactly what I was thinking. Although, like you also said, there's gonna be a bit more to it. (Professor Rowan's specialty is evolution, so I'll definitely develop that.)

As for Emerson, he was one of my quirk characters... yep.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 5986481)
You draw a very interesting picture of Michael Rowan in his early years. You can see his potential to be an excellent researcher by his grades in school and his intelligence, but his attitude and personality looks like they'll go through a huge change throughout the course of the story, and I am looking forward to seeing how that plays out.

The story will focus around Michael's transformation... that's the fun of it ;)

So, thanks for the review! Next chapter in one week. (And this time, I'll actually be able to fulfill that promise.)

Bay July 21st, 2010 8:52 PM

Haha, I like the scene where the children went wild when getting their starters. I feel sorry for Emerson having to go through all that. XD Soon, Rowan will have to experience that when he becomes professor. :P Speaking of Emerson, even though his characterization is a bit unexpected for a professor, I still like him. XD

Like LeSabre, I too would get upset if a character has a shiny, but Rowan having one is reasonable. I’m sure too the Turtwig will be the start of Michael going for a researcher career path.

Sorry for a short review, not too much going on in this chapter. D: I still enjoyed it, though. Can’t wait for next chapter!

Haruka of Hoenn July 22nd, 2010 7:17 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Bay Alexison (Post 5991868)
Haha, I like the scene where the children went wild when getting their starters. I feel sorry for Emerson having to go through all that. XD Soon, Rowan will have to experience that when he becomes professor. :P Speaking of Emerson, even though his characterization is a bit unexpected for a professor, I still like him. XD

Like LeSabre, I too would get upset if a character has a shiny, but Rowan having one is reasonable. I’m sure too the Turtwig will be the start of Michael going for a researcher career path.

Sorry for a short review, not too much going on in this chapter. D: I still enjoyed it, though. Can’t wait for next chapter!

I liked that scene as well :P It'll play a significance later on, but I won't spoil anything.

So anyways, glad you liked the chapter! Next chapter in one week, as usual.

Haruka of Hoenn July 31st, 2010 6:15 AM

High time to be postin' chapter three...


Decided to post this one a day early, since it's one of the shorter ones as well. (You're probably tired of hearing that, so I'll explain: This is a turning point in the story. You'll see why as you read. The next chapter will be short too, and after that, they'll start lengthening.)

And without further ado, chapter three.


0.3

When Michael got home, the Stunky was squealing. Upon slamming the door to his room, making sure his old 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign was visible, he opened the closet and looked down. The Stunky was shuffling around in its cage, clawing at the metal with a hungry fervor. When it saw him, it mewed again, this time louder. Michael let out a groan.

He ran down to the kitchen and grabbed three strings of bacon from the breakfast table, then came back and tossed them into the cage. The Stunky pounced upon the food immediately, tearing and chewing.

"At least that'll keep you quiet," Michael grumbled, then slid the doors closed.

He descended the stairs again, this time turning into the living room, where the only phone in the house was kept. He plopped down into one of the armchairs, figuring he could use a friend’s advice.

Michael twirled the rotary, and after three rings, Cory's voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hey," Michael said.

"Hey Mike. I heard about the suspension... Me and Brendan got them too. Till the end of the year, right?"

"Right."

"I know! Man, imagine what we could do with an extra week of no school! It's like paradise!"

Michael twisted the cord around his index finger. "Yep."

There was a pause on the other end. "Uh, Mike? You sound upset. Are you mad about it or something?"

"No, no. I was actually really happy about it, but my mom just officially ruined summer for me."

"What'd she do?"

"She took me to Sandgem to get a starter pokémon... it was such a drag."

"From Professor Chrome Dome?"

"Yeah."

"Whoa! How bad was it?"

"Like, I could use it as a mirror." Michael began to laugh. "And get this, he was totally hooked on smoking. He lit up right there in his office, after all the kids left. The pokéballs all got mixed up, so I had to pick a random one. It was a Turtwig, but it was all weird-looking. "

"Weird how?"

"The color. It was different. You know how Turtwigs are supposed to be this grassy green color? And their eyes are black? Well, mine's not. Mine's this light blue-green, and its eyes are yellow."

"Wow... was it defective or something?"

It often scared Michael how his friends could think on the same plane as he did. "Yeah," he answered. "And that's not even the point, I mean, that professor guy is a total dipstick. When me and my mom went to ask what was up with it, he kicked us out. He didn't even answer our question. So now I'm stuck with a crappy Turtwig and a mom who's gonna make me raise it for the rest of summer."

"Bummer," Cory said slowly. "No, seriously, I feel your pain. But it's not all bad right? I mean, when I got my starter, my mom said that she was gonna force me to raise it too, but she never did anything. I haven't opened that pokéball in three years and I don't think she cares. My grades are more important to her."

"Still, our moms are different. Mine usually keeps her promises." Michael sighed. "And I don't even want to raise a pokémon. It's stupid."

Cory was silent for a few moments. Michael could tell he was eating something, due to faint crunching noises on the other end. "Hey, do you still have that Stunky?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Michael said.

"Do you think you can sneak out today and drop it off at my pad? Then we could all do experiments on it. I already know some. I found this special food recipe that can help pokémon grow super powerful. We should try it on the Stunky to see if it works. Think about it, we could have the most powerful pokémon on the block! We'll pay people to battle us, and we'll make a fortune!"

Michael laughed along with his friend, and instantly felt his energy return. “Sure thing.”

"So where is it right now?" Cory said.

"Closet."

"Cool. Can you come over in a minute, then? The old man's out with friends, and he won’t care what we’re up to. We'll use the garage."

Michael looked over his shoulder. Somewhere in the kitchen, he heard the clang of pots and pans. If he got caught, there was no telling what Patricia would do to him.

"Yeah. I'll be there."



//////



Michael kept a thick rope rolled up beneath his bed, unbeknownst to his mother. He had put it there when he was six, and from then on, used it whenever he needed to make a getaway.

When he got to his room and kneeled down, Michael found it waiting there, like an old friend. One end was tied to the bed’s leg, in an unbreakable knot that would fully support his weight.

Michael pulled out the rest of its length, and with a mass of coils in his hand, he pushed open his window and threw it out. The rope unraveled with a quick hiss, dropping all the way into the grass. Michael went over to his closet and took out the Stunky's cage, ignoring the pokémon’s squeaks as he sat down onto the pane.

He opened the window wider and peered down at the ground. He no longer had a fear of heights, thanks to years of experience. Looping his arm through the cage’s handle, Michael gripped the rope with both hands and pushed himself off of the edge. After a moment of exhilaration, he tightened his grip and let himself swing back towards the wall of the house, using his feet to cushion the impact. The Stunky began to screech and rattle about, but the cage was secure. Score. Michael grunted, and began to inch his way down.

Throughout the whole thing, the Stunky was restless. It kept turning in place, lifting its tail threateningly, as if being outside again had suddenly thrown its sense of location out of whack. Michael was able to suck up his annoyance until he was safely on the ground.

You're gonna get yours soon anyway... he thought with a smile.

Cory's house stood on the other side of the street, at the very end of the lane. His family was too poor and lazy to bother with appearances, so the lawn was overgrown and the paint on the driveway was faded. The gate in front of the house was always unlocked, and Michael let himself in with ease. He went over to the garage door and knocked.

"Hey guys, I'm here."

"All right, hang on!" came a muffled voice. Seconds later, Cory slid up the door to reveal a messy garage. Brendan was standing off to the side, around a wooden table. Both boys wore thick gloves.

"Bring it in, bring it in." Cory grinned. Michael set the cage onto the table, directly beneath the ceiling lamp. The Stunky paced in circles some more, then its eyes finally locked on its captors.

"Here, take a pair of these." Brendan threw Michael an extra pair of gloves. "Pokémon can get nasty."

Michael pulled them on, and Cory clapped his hands.

"All right. Gentlemen, say hello to the food of the future!" He took down a glass container from the shelf, and opened it to reveal a strange brown mixture.

"So that's supposed to make the Stunky super strong?" Michael said.

"Yup. I got the recipe from a garden catalogue. It's supposed to make plants grow faster, and since it works on plants then I guess it can work on pokémon, right?"

"Ha! Wouldn't it be the coolest thing if its tail grew to the size of a truck?" Brendan grinned. "We could spray the whole town!"

Michael snorted. "Well, what are we standing around for? Let's do it!"

"Yeah!" Cory lifted the container and held it over the cage. "Begin the countdown! Ten!"

"Nine!" Michael shouted.

"Eight!" Brendan joined in.

"Seven!"

"Six!"

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"


"ONE!" Cory turned the box over and let the mixture spill out, releasing a puff of dust. Michael's nostrils burned from the smell of fertilizer. The Stunky rushed to get out of the way, but the cloud swallowed it whole. The cage shook with the force of its flails.

"Hold it, hold it!" Michael cried. "It's gonna fall off the table!"

Cory steadied the cage with his hands. His glasses were coated in brown film. "The transformation's happening! Get some water, quick!"

Brendan ran out of the garage and came back a few seconds later with a hose in his hands.

"Get back!"

He pulled the handle, and a jet of water shot out of the nozzle. The blast hit the Stunky against the wall of the cage, causing the whole thing to topple off the table. The remains of Cory's mixture trickled away into the driveway, revealing a shaking Stunky. Its fur was black and dripping, but other than that, there was no change. Michael's shoulders sagged.

"Well that was a waste of time."

"Tell me about it." Brendan lowered his arms, letting the dripping hose sag to the ground.

Cory kneeled down beside the Stunky, wiping his lenses. "I don't get it. I got the recipe right..."

"Well apparently you didn't." Michael said. "What catalogue did you get it from anyway?"

Cory shrugged. "Don't know. Some magazine my mom had in her closet. It's from like five years ago."

"That explains it," Brendan said. "They've probably come up with a better one now. One that actually works."

The three boys stood in silence for a while.

"So what now?" Michael crossed his arms.

Cory thought for a moment, then smiled. "Hey, I have an idea." He went back to the shelves and took down a second box. This one was larger, and was filled with glinting metal equipment.

"What's that for?"

"I read in the paper that a hospital was offering this new type of surgery. Debridisomething. We could try it on the Stunky."

"Nice." Michael smiled.

"But we don't even know what Debridi is," Brendan said. "What if we don't do it right and it dies?"

"So?" Cory said.

"I don't know, it just seems like a waste. We did all that to catch it, and we didn't even have time to play around with it. We should do the surgery last."

Cory shrugged and placed the box back onto the shelf. "Whatever. Hey, let's go watch the Space Race now. We'll sneak some soda from the fridge."

"Sure," Michael said.

"Right behind ya."

The boys took off their gloves and cleaned up the best they could before going into the house. Michael was the last to leave the garage. He took one final look at the Stunky, who had watched them in silence, then slammed the door behind him.




//////



The three of them proceeded into Cory’s living room, a narrow space stuffed with a bit more furniture than it was meant to hold. A TV box rested on a long table, consisting of a rounded screen, some dials, and a single speaker on the right side. Michael and Brendan settled onto the couch in front of it, and after bringing them their drinks, Cory began to fiddle with the channels. He fixed it on News Channel Five, which was owned by SNN, the largest news company in the country. It aired the Space Race twice every day without failure — once in the morning, once in the evening. Even when there weren’t any new developments, they always aired commentaries and analyses, keeping things fresh instead of filling all their time with recaps of previous coverage. Over the course of a few months, Michael learned more than school had ever told him about outer space, the Earth, and even a bit of rocket science.

Once the channel logo had appeared, Cory sat down beside the other boys and opened his soda. “All right, here it comes…”

The screen flickered, and the image of a middle-aged man appeared, sitting behind a desk against the backdrop of a starry sky. This was Sinnoh’s main anchorman, Freddie Horner. During the Space Race, he was an almost ubiquitous presence on the news — and despite the other guests and reporters who appeared on the program, it was always him before the camera whenever there was a new update.

For the next two hours, Michael sat leaning forward, wholly immersed in his words. Apparently, Team Rocket’s spacecraft had taken snapshots of the moon, and had transmitted them successfully back to Earth. The spacecraft had been launched early in January, as part of Hoenn’s campaign to unlock the secrets of the first extraterrestrial body within man’s reach. After Freddie Horner recounted the mission, the TV displayed a slideshow of the pictures. The moon was nothing interesting, just a giant grey ball covered in craters. There was no evidence of life on its surface, neither people nor pokémon.

Michael and his friends devotedly tuned in every afternoon to check up on Sinnoh's own team of scientists, Team Galactic. Like most of the Sinnoh population, he, Cory, and Brendan shared a desire to beat Hoenn — although, like most of the Sinnoh population, they weren’t always sure what this meant. Most of the time, the Space Race seemed like a back-and-forth relay, one team one-upping the other with a new record or novelty. Occasionally, a real milestone was made, but after the excitement over the actual event wore off, it would still boil down to one country getting the glory, while the other seethed with frustration and tried to top it.

Eventually, Michael simply took ‘victory’ to mean making the most groundbreaking accomplishment, something that would tip the scales in Sinnoh’s favor so much that they’d be permanently stuck there. He didn’t yet know what that would be, but he knew he would recognize it when it happened.

In the meantime, he kept a mental tally of achievements as the years went by, celebrating whenever their country was in the lead. Up until that moment, it had been a tie. (Team Galactic had sent the first man into space the previous September.) But of course, the Rockets always found a way to turn the tables.


Once the program was over, the boys ceremonially slapped their hands against the pillows of the couch, mocking Team Rocket and admonishing Team Galactic for letting their guard down.

“I’m telling you guys, this is only the beginning.” Cory was saying. “My mom got the latest paper, and it says in there that Team Rocket’s got the whole mission planned out. They’re gonna land a person on there, and then they’re gonna start building a huge colony that can support life. People might actually start living on the moon twenty years from now.”

Brendan wrinkled his nose. “Sounds like a drag to me. Farming my own food, living under a dome, seeing the same people over and over again… It’ll probably be years before they figure out how to hook up a TV there.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Michael said. “If Team Rocket locks themselves up in a bubble, that’ll leave Team Galactic free to focus on the important stuff.”

“Like what?” asked Brendan.

“Like this.” Michael stood and went over to a table, where Cory kept his newspapers. He took the latest issue of Sinnoh Post, the one that had first announced the moon pictures, and began to leaf through it. “I forgot where I read this, but someone said that Team Galactic found samples of the kinds of rocks that were on the moon, and they’re completely different from anything that’s found on Earth. Most of the rocks here have been weathered too much, and because of all the things that live in the soil, they’re always changing and being broken down. But the rocks on the moon aren’t being weathered at all. They’re much stronger and harder, and if Team Galactic can synthesize a new material from them, they can revolutionize the way we build stuff. So while Team Rocket grows seeds in plastic bags, Team Galactic’s gonna be improving life for people back here. And that’s what’s important.”

He lowered the newspaper, and saw his friends looking back at him in interest. With his can of soda in hand, Cory nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s some deep stuff. I like your thinking, Mike.”

Michael gave a shrug, but smiled. “Hey. I’m just saying what I read.”

Cory brought over the entire stack of newspapers, and the boys spent some time flipping through the old news, picking out interesting articles and laughing at the advertisements. But Michael knew that he was running on borrowed time, so he was careful to take his leave before too much of it could pass. Filled with a renewed sense of desire and purpose, he parted with his friends and set off towards home.

Getting back up to his room was always harder than coming down, but this time it was made worse by constantly-dripping cage, and the Stunky pausing every so often to shake the water off its hide. When he finally arrived in his room, Michael dropped the cage onto the carpet with a sigh. He pulled the rope back up and closed the window.

"Welcome back."

Michael jumped. At first he thought he was hearing things, but when he turned around, he saw that Patricia was seated at his desk. Her arms were folded in her lap, and her expression was perfectly calm. Michael's heart sank.

"I come into my son's room to check up on him, and I see this." She gestured towards the rope. "And an open window. Two hours later, he comes back. With the Stunky." Patricia rose to her feet. Behind her eyes, a storm was brewing. "Let me guess. You were at your friend's house, weren't you?"

"It's not what it looks like!" Michael said. "I was going to put it back! To release it back into the wild!"

"STOP TALKING!" Patricia roared, and Michael shrank against the wall. She rose from her chair and advanced towards him, fingers curling into fists. "I know you weren't just about to release it. The cage is soaking wet, and that Stunky looks like it's been through a hurricane! It was one thing to harass that poor creature in school, but to take it home too? What were you planning on doing with it, hmm?"

Michael cleared his throat. "Just... keep it as a pet."

"You know what? I don't believe you. I don't believe a single word that comes out of your mouth anymore. I really, truly thought that when I took you to get your Turtwig, everything would be all right. And now that I see this, I'm beginning to wonder whether I should go back to Sandgem myself and return it! Apparently you didn't hear what your teacher said. Your behavior got you suspended from school! This isn’t about some detention or referral to the guidance counselor anymore — your entire future is at stake here!”

Michael scoffed, and Patricia spread out her arms emphatically. “What, you don’t believe me? You don’t think that’s true? What about when you get to high school? When all the other kids around you are going to be focusing on their goals and their careers, and you’re still sitting in detention for chasing Stunkies around playgrounds, what do you think that’ll say about you? What do you think it says to a mother when she finds out that her son wastes his time running off from class, sneaking into movie theaters, and fooling around with school property? Oh, I forgot. You don’t care about any of that. After all, school doesn’t matter to big bad Michael. As long as you’ve got the coolest records and are up to date on all those shows you watch, everything’s fine and dandy.”

“So you’d rather have me challenge Gyms?” Michael blurted. “Go around battling some stupid tournament instead of learning? I thought you wanted me to focus on school!”

“You and I both know that grades aren’t your problem, Michael,” Patricia replied. “Your problem is your attitude! And believe me, if you don’t fix that, then your brains will go down the same way. You can’t avoid it forever. Either you start listening to what adults are telling you and start acting responsibly, or you become a dropout and spend the rest of your life switching from job to job. I think you know which of those options is the right one to choose, and learning to treat other living things with respect is a good place to start! Because right now, you obviously have no constructive input from any of your activities. Even worse are those hooligans you hang out with…”

Michael clenched his fists. "Will you stop including my friends into every single complaint you have of me? You blame them for everything! In a few weeks you'll start blaming them for the fucking bad weather!"

Patricia's flush deepened. "Don't you dare talk like that to me! If I hadn't found out what you were doing with that Stunky today, the same thing would probably have happened to your Turtwig!"

"That's not true!" he said automatically.

But Patricia lowered her gaze, shaking her head. "I can't believe this... after all I've done for you, this is how you repay me? Have I been that bad of a mother to you?"

Michael contemplated answering, but held his tongue.

No. Not now.

"You treat pokémon as if they were your toys! Your toys, Michael! Do you understand how that makes me feel?"

Michael turned away and crossed his arms.

"Answer me!"

He remained silent.

"Michael, you can't spend the rest of your life like this! I know you care about your future as much as I do!"

Michael had been determined to remain silent for the rest of the conversation, at least until his mother had finished blowing off steam. But right at that moment, he felt something click. A series of events assembled in his mind. School. His brothers. His childhood. The montage nearly overrode the image of his mother, red and haughty and ticking like a clock.

Then, the words seemed to push themselves forward. "You don't care," Michael said. "You never did, and you never will."

There was a terribly long silence. Patricia drew back a little. The words seemed to strike a chord somewhere in her heart, and for a moment, she just stood there.

When she finally spoke, her voice wobbled. "Whatever you have going on in that head of yours, you better kick it out fast. For now, you're grounded. No phone. No television. No contact with those kids. You are not to set foot outside this house without my permission. That will give you some time to think about what you just said to me." Patricia left without another word. The door slammed loudly, but after that, the house was dead quiet. Even the Stunky had stopped whimpering. It was peering through the bars now, looking at Michael curiously.

It's all that stupid Stunky's fault... Michael decided. But he was too weary to do anything about it.

The conversation between him and his mother had been short, but in that time, Michael had managed to sever their already fragile bond. And deep down, he knew it would never mend again.

Bay July 31st, 2010 9:01 AM

I feel sorry for that Stunky. With the boys putting that fertilizer on him and then soaking him is just mean. D: At least though they didn’t do surgery on him. >.> Also, nice reference with Team Galatic and Team Rocket doing the Space Race there. However, isn’t Team Rocket Kanto? I think you mention something about that in the first chapter, so I probably missed it. D:

The part where Michael and his mother fight all I have to say is ouch. Makes me wonder how their relationship got bad like this. Seems like their relationship is going really downhill now after that fight, though. D: I did notice so far in this story there have been a couple mentions of his childhood and his brothers. I think probably Michael’s memories of the past have something to do with how he and his mother aren’t get along, most likely. Guess I’ll have to wait and see.

Yeah, sorry for another short review. D: Still an enjoyable read, though. Can’t wait for the next chapter!

Haruka of Hoenn July 31st, 2010 1:34 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Bay Alexison (Post 6022026)
I feel sorry for that Stunky. With the boys putting that fertilizer on him and then soaking him is just mean. D: At least though they didn’t do surgery on him. >.> Also, nice reference with Team Galatic and Team Rocket doing the Space Race there. However, isn’t Team Rocket Kanto? I think you mention something about that in the first chapter, so I probably missed it. D:

Yes, Team Rocket is Kanto, but I got the idea to merge a little bit of both. (Since, after all, Hoenn has the Rocket Launch center in Mosdeep, and Team Rocket's name is so delightfully obvious.)


Quote:

Originally Posted by Bay Alexison (Post 6022026)
The part where Michael and his mother fight all I have to say is ouch. Makes me wonder how their relationship got bad like this. Seems like their relationship is going really downhill now after that fight, though. D: I did notice so far in this story there have been a couple mentions of his childhood and his brothers. I think probably Michael’s memories of the past have something to do with how he and his mother aren’t get along, most likely. Guess I’ll have to wait and see.

You are correct. But I'll get onto more of that later. This chapter will be one of the bigger chunks of information I'll have in one sitting, and the rest will be revealed piece by piece. Or maybe not, I don't know. Whichever way the story goes. But I'll definitely be developing their story as it continues.

See you next chapter!

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ August 3rd, 2010 9:02 AM

ERROR...ERROR...
took out the Stunky's cage

Ah, good ol' parent-child arguments... I've had more than my fair share of those, sad to admit. But cruel experiments on Pokemon can be fun... Personally, I've always wanted to see what happens when you drop a Pikachu from 20 feet high onto a busy freeway below.

About the two teams... space exploration today, world domination tomorrow xD

Good chapter overall, as we finally see the event that gets Michael out of the house, perhaps never to return again... My apologies for the short review, but the adventure hasn't started yet. IIRC from the chapters you sent me, there will be more to comment on next chapter :) See you then xD

Haruka of Hoenn August 3rd, 2010 3:55 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6031712)
ERROR...ERROR...
took out the Stunky's cage

Hey, thanks for stopping by!

And yeah, that error was mentioned on SPPF but I forgot to correct it before I posted it here :P Good eye.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6031712)
Ah, good ol' parent-child arguments... I've had more than my fair share of those, sad to admit. But cruel experiments on Pokemon can be fun... Personally, I've always wanted to see what happens when you drop a Pikachu from 20 feet high onto a busy freeway below.

:)


Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6031712)
About the two teams... space exploration today, world domination tomorrow xD


Yeah, I love how I tied that in there... I guess space exploration can inspire someone further in their career.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6031712)
Good chapter overall, as we finally see the event that gets Michael out of the house, perhaps never to return again... My apologies for the short review, but the adventure hasn't started yet. IIRC from the chapters you sent me, there will be more to comment on next chapter :) See you then xD

That's all right. There is more to comment in the next ones, anyway. (But they've undergone manymany edits since I sent them to you, so...)

Thanks for the review!

Gardenia101 August 5th, 2010 4:57 PM

Well done, well done. You've built the character of young Rowan well.

However, I detected an odd thing within the story.

Quote:

When she finally spoke, her voice wobbled.
Her voice wobbled? An image of Wobbuffet pops up whenever I think or that sentence. Try words like "Shook".

But, again, I really like it.

Haruka of Hoenn August 6th, 2010 5:18 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Gardenia101 (Post 6040323)
Her voice wobbled? An image of Wobbuffet pops up whenever I think or that sentence. Try words like "Shook".

Yeah, that was on purpose. What I mean by that line is that her voice was shaky, but I wanted to use a different word for it to create a different effect. 'Shook' seems a bit too abrasive.

Thanks for reading anyway, and I'll definitely PM you once a new chapter comes. See you next time.

Gardenia101 August 6th, 2010 6:36 AM

Ah. I just thought I'd point that out if it was a mistake.
Guess not.
You know, I'm addicted to books like Harry Potter; You know, bestsellers. I like how their writing is practically flawless and they all have good plots. But truthfully, this is better than any of them. Seriously!

indinrio August 7th, 2010 8:27 PM

Hey there! I really like the way your story is turning out, except for one thing: I can't really bring myself to see Mike is a likeable person at all. I understand that he's probably feeling frustrated by his broken family and school life and all, but for me that doesn't quite justify him dropping f-bombs on his mother and gleefully planning the execution of an innocent little Stunky. Perhaps you could include a bit more backstory on him? I think the story would be much more enjoyable if you could explain what conflicts happened in his past to make him turn out that way: brilliantly smart and astute, yet cold and often cruel to the people around him.

If you've already got such backstory planned out for future chapters, maybe you could consider bringing a bit of it forward? It's definitely important not to drown readers in excessive backstory narration, but at the same time it think it's important that the readers can quickly relate to and symphatise with your protagonist, preferably within the first few chapters. FIrst impressions do count, after all.

In a more positive note, this is definitely one of the best Pokemon fanfics I've read. I'm a sucker for fanfics that realise that even in the Pokemon world life wouldn't be always filled with sunshine and sparking rainbows and chirpy cartoon characters with smiles plastered across their faces. It would be filled with conflict and anger and cruelty, just like our real world. You are clearly aware of that fact, and the emotional confrontations Michael goes through are powerful and achingly realistic as a result. Well done. :)

Oh, and as a final note, please don't kill that Stunky. It never did anything wrong! :(

Haruka of Hoenn August 8th, 2010 11:27 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by indinrio (Post 6047861)
Hey there! I really like the way your story is turning out, except for one thing: I can't really bring myself to see Mike is a likeable person at all. I understand that he's probably feeling frustrated by his broken family and school life and all, but for me that doesn't quite justify him dropping f-bombs on his mother and gleefully planning the execution of an innocent little Stunky. Perhaps you could include a bit more backstory on him? I think the story would be much more enjoyable if you could explain what conflicts happened in his past to make him turn out that way: brilliantly smart and astute, yet cold and often cruel to the people around him.

Funny you should mention that... the next chapter is going to be when I reveal more of Michael's backstory. I'm not gonna do it all in one chapter of course, but the next one's gonna give you a pretty big information chunk in one sitting. After that, I'll be spreading it out some more, but remember - this kid, somehow, is going to turn out to be the placid, wise Rowan one way or another. The worse he is from the start, the more amazing the transformation will be.

And you don't have to sympathize with Michael at all - I have one reader on another forum who takes Patricia's side. The scene where they dump fertilizer on the Stunky is his rock bottom in a way, and once you've hit the bottom you have nowhere to go but up, right?

As for the Stunky, don't worry, I have the perfect thing planned out for it. Its time won't come for a while, but it'll come.

So, thanks for taking the time to read and reply! I hope you enjoy the upcoming chapters.

Speaking of upcoming chapters...

Haruka of Hoenn August 8th, 2010 11:29 AM

0.4

The next few days dragged on in silence. Michael spent most of his time in his room, only now, for a change, it was by choice. As the hours went by, he lay spread-eagled on his bed, watching the window light dance across the ceiling.

So this is my summer... Michael thought. It's one thing to be suspended, but stuck in my own house? I hate this... I hate my life.

Occasionally, his gaze trailed over to the pokéball that lay on the windowsill. He had moved it there so it wouldn't bother him, but now it had been caught again by a patch of light, and glinted mockingly.

Michael welled with loathing. That thing would be better off at the bottom of a lake.

There were no noises coming from any of the other rooms, and the only mark of passing time was the ticking clock on the wall. Michael had thought of filling the hole by calling his friends, but he found out much too late that Patricia had disconnected the phone cord, leaving a bare plastic deadweight on the table. She had done the same for the TV, so he couldn't watch the Space Race either.

By the looks of it, the wounds from their conversation were still oozing, as Michael saw from the empty take-out containers littering the dining table, and half-finished bowls of leftovers in the refrigerator. His mother did not call him for meals, nor announce when she bought something new, so he had to come down and assess the inventory himself every day. In a way, this relieved him. With Patricia no longer breathing down his neck, he was free to eat all the sweets he wanted. Every night he snuck up to his room with handfuls of gummy worms, lollipops, and snack bars.

Other than the traces she left behind, Michael never saw his mother around the house. She never came to his room to continue her reprimands or check what he was up to. Heck, she didn't even ask him if he was hungry or maybe even bored of being shut up all day. Patricia had just... vanished.

Days passed. The sun came and went. His garbage can filled to the brink of overflow, and his supply of fresh clothes dwindled.

One day, out of sheer boredom, Michael began searching through his shelves, which to his surprise, were filled with things he didn’t need. He found three empty packs of gum and a first-grade math workbook sandwiched behind some paperback novels, where they had been collecting dust all these years. He tossed them aside. Most of the space in the higher shelves was taken up by action figures, ones he hadn't played with in years. He left those alone, since they could at least serve as decorations. His piggy bank, due to his frequent spending, contained only five dollars.

Michael cleared out the shelves slowly, often pausing on books or boxes that interested him and searching through their contents. He pushed what he didn’t need to the center of the room, and arranged everything else in a new way.

The next day, he moved on to his drawers. Michael had never troubled himself with organization, no matter how many times Patricia tried to force it onto him. Instead, he rolled up his shirts and pants into balls and threw them in, compressing the lumpy layers when he needed more room. Now, he took them out and smoothed them, placing them back in small stacks.

He found some of Richard's old shirts buried in the depths of the bottom drawer, since this had once been his room. Michael folded these carefully, then placed them in a corner to themselves. The only things he did toss aside were an old jacket, a pair of pants that didn't fit him, and a single red sock.

By the end of the third day, Michael had managed to turn his den into a semi-orderly space, one that even his mother might have been proud of. On top of that, he had done it without any sort of spite or impatience. He found this rather funny, since it would usually take a good few bucks from his father to bribe him into cleaning.

But there was still one place he hadn’t touched. The closet.

Michael’s gaze trailed over to it now, and he felt a wave of reluctance. The closet was an enigmatic cave, one whose front was light and orderly, and whose back was a stomach of junk that sucked in objects to make itself grow. He had tried to sort through it in the past, but found it to be so vast and unintelligible that he decided it was better to leave it alone. So for four years, he confined his activities to the front, leaving the back to its own devices.

But the more he looked at it, the more it seemed to pull him in, flooding him with curiosity. Finally, he went to open the doors, ignoring the Stunky's squeals of protest. His eyes ran over eleven years' worth of junk that was piled inside: books, sweaters, bags, toys… all of it lay in mounds on the floor, and peeked out from the depths of shelves.

Slowly, Michael reached into the pile on the floor and pulled out a random object. It turned out to be an old notebook. He flipped through it, and saw large, pointless sentences that were written by a kindergartener's hand. Stupid. He threw it into the trash pile.

The next object he pulled out was an empty tissue box. Why haven't I thrown this out yet? He tossed this as well.

Michael got down to his knees and began to comb through the pile with his hands, dealing with it in manageable chunks. He took out an assortment of clothes and toys, some of which he recognized, others which could have come from another kid’s closet in a different dimension. At one point, Michael felt his hand close around the corner of a thick, heavy book, which felt nothing like the lightweight fictions or the glossy workbooks he had gotten so far. He stood up and began to wriggle it out. After a considerable amount of pulling, he managed to get it loose, and stepped back into the light to see what it was. It was an old family photo album.

When did I ever have this? Michael wondered. He ran his fingers over the cloth binding and opened it to the inside cover. There was a name penned on the line: 'RICHARD ROWAN'. Michael’s eyes widened in recognition. This had been his brother's.

After a pause, he turned the page.

The first thing that greeted him was black-and-white photograph, showing a fat baby wrapped in blankets. He couldn't tell who it was, but by the faded image and the worn edges, it was most likely Brian. He had been born first. Michael’s eyes trailed down the page and found a line of text beneath it.

"September 26th, 1946. Our son, Brian Rowan, one year old!!!" It was Patricia's handwriting.

The second photograph was of his parents, Patricia and Andrew. Their faces were pressed together against a grassy background, and they wore toothy grins. The caption read: "A day at the park!"

Michael chuckled, and he sat down on the floor, placing the album into his lap. He saw several more pictures of Brian on his later birthdays, then Richard's pictures, and finally his own. Michael's eyes lingered on a particular photograph that was too long to be placed vertically. It showed him at about eight years old, sitting on a swing, his head ducked down as he stared at the sand. Behind him was a spectacular sunset, a splattered canvas of red and orange, framed by the crowns of trees. The memory of the day returned to him in hazy fragments — he had been mad for some reason, and someone had taken the picture anyway. There was no caption.

The next one was a full family shot: him, Richard, Brian, and his parents. As he looked at their faces all bunched together, it suddenly struck Michael how different they were. He, Richard, and his father all had similar features, and though the color was faded in places, he knew that their hair held the same shade of black. Patricia and Brian, on the other hand, had caramel-colored hair and softer faces. They were different from the rest, and not just by their appearance.

For one thing, Brian had never shared any hobbies or interests with his brothers. When Michael went to play outside with Richard, Brian never went along. There were only photos of Michael and Richard by the basketball pole, Michael and Richard running in a meadow, or them and Andrew cheering at school events. The captions were always done by Richard’s hand.

In contrast, photos of Brian showed him at honor roll assemblies, standing beside science projects, or holding awards. Patricia was nearly always present, smiling next to her star student of a son. The rest of the family appeared infrequently, and later, was altogether absent. And Michael knew why.

It was because, for as long as he could remember, they had led separate lives. But at the time he hadn't felt it, because it hadn't mattered. His brother and father were the best companions he ever had, and so long as they were around, he was whole. They helped him with school, joined him on excursions, and pulled him through difficult times. The three of them were always the first ones out the door in the morning and the last ones to come in before dinner. When Richard became old enough to join the school soccer team, it had been a celebration. Michael and Andrew accompanied him to every practice and reserved the highest bleacher seats at games, which became the seeds of countless traditions.

But for some reason, Patricia was never really a part of their picture. She preferred to stay at home when they went out, sitting with Brian and helping him with his homework. Like her, Brian was always orderly and in control. If Richard and Michael were the leaves, then to her, he was the fruit — the family's success. Patricia often talked of raising her other sons to Brian’s standard, but never went out of her way to fulfill it. Rather, she always disciplined them from afar, pacing up and down a boundary that she never crossed. Likewise, Andrew recognized Brian’s talents and praised his studiousness, but he never did it quite like Patricia did.

The more photos Michael saw, the more clearly he sensed their division. It seemed almost like a game, one that could have gone on forever, had it not been for one thing that made everything come to a screeching halt.

That had been Andrew.

As Michael turned the page, he felt his breath catch as he saw familiar places: wide hallways, padded chairs, and a sunny, white hospital room. His father’s. This was one of the few times in the album where the whole family was gathered together.

He remembered those months perfectly. He and his brothers would spend long hours in the room during visits, taking turns with Patricia, sometimes starting a game or conversation to lighten the mood. One particular photo stood out the most. It depicted eight-year-old Michael sitting in a chair on a night shift, his eyelids drooping and his lips chapped. It was the last hospital picture, because the next morning, the news would come. And there were no pictures for that day.

On the surface, everyone had been the same, raw and tear-stained. But Richard seemed to crash the hardest, and his transformation resounded in every corner of Michael’s heart. While Andrew had been a father to Brian, he had been Richard's and Michael's best friend. And the loss of a best friend took a bit of someone along with it.

Left as the head of the family, Patricia was revved from her temperance and turned into a restless, glitching machine. She tried to include Michael and Richard in her plans as much as she could, but their needs never corresponded with her abilities. When Brian's meetings and Richard's game dates clashed, her instincts told her to drive Brian first, which ignited arguments in the car, and resulted in Richard shutting himself up in the house, or staying in school until his events ended. Michael tried to stay with Richard on such occasions, but more and more frequently, Patricia made him tag along with her.

"You can’t sit around like this,” she would say. “You have to start doing something.”

“I want to be there for Richard,” Michael responded.

“Richard has his own ways of coping that don’t involve those around him,” Patricia said. “You, on the other hand, have to get things going.”

And so it had happened. Over the years, while Richard drifted away, Patricia began to make Michael her second favorite. She commended his good papers and forced him to correct bad ones, and took input from his teachers to pinpoint his skills. She did everything she had done with Brian, as if she’d seen the gleam of some hidden talent deep within him, and was now in a frenzy to dig it up. Michael had never been able to understand it. He only saw how Richard plummeted, how their walks grew rarer, and their conversations shorter. There was hardly a day when his brother didn’t seem sad or resentful, but whatever he was thinking, he had ceased to share it.

Michael turned the page of the album, anticipating more pictures, but instead he found a bare page filled with frantic handwriting. Richard had written a letter to their father.

Way to go, dad. Ever since you left, I've been stuck with an idiotic older brother and a mom who couldn't care less about me. Nothing’s the same without you. I don't know about them, but Michael and I miss you more than you can imagine. Fuck it, you were the best guy in the world. If you're watching me right now dad, I'm sorry. But I can't take it anymore. My entire life has been hell, and it's all because of mom and Brian. I've been trying to stick around for Michael’s sake (he reminds me of you sometimes, you know) but I don’t think I can handle much more. Mom's trying to turn both of us into Brian-clones, and she’s acting like the people we were when you were there should never have existed. So I'm gonna leave. I don't know if it’s right or wrong in her eyes and honestly I don't care. I just want things to be back to the way they were. Just you, me, and the little guy. I'll miss him too.

Hope to see you soon,

Richard.


Michael’s heart quickened. There was no date on the letter, but from the content, he approximated it to be sometime after the fight.

It had happened in the autumn of the following year. Patricia had gone to work full-time, and Brian was focusing his energies on getting into a good high school. Both of them were fighting the turbulence and moving forward. But through it all, Michael and Richard had roamed in a daze, still trying to find their way back to their stronghold of good and security. Even to each other they seemed blurred, and their gazes no longer struck together like they used to.

That evening, he, Patricia, Brian, and Richard had been seated at dinner, at the same four-person table that now stood in the kitchen. Out of the blue, Patricia announced that Brian had been accepted at Cobblers Academy, an elite boarding school in Canalave City. From the way she had said it, Michael knew it was something they should have been very proud of. But all he had done was nod, and Richard did nothing at all.

Patricia noticed, and questioned Richard.

"Shouldn't you be happy for your brother?" she had said.

To this day, Michael remembered how Richard had replied. Calmly lowering his fork, he said, "And when was the last time you were happy for either of us?" Then, he got up and left the room.

Michael went to bed, hoping the tension would blow over like it had always done. But when he got up the next morning, he found that Richard's room was empty. No angry note. No farewell. Nothing. Patricia acted like she didn't notice. Brian made no comment either, but his gaze followed Michael throughout the entire day. When the time came for spring cleaning, Patricia hauled out the clutter from Richard’s loft and allowed Michael to move in from his bedroom downstairs, but under an unspoken condition. Michael was prohibited from mentioning his brother's name, or bringing up the subject of his disappearance. From now on, he only had one brother. Brian.

But in the back of his mind, Michael did question it. He thought it over and over at night, sometimes to the point where he got a headache. Turns out, the answer had been in his closet the whole time. Richard had been sick of his home life too. Only he had actually gotten the guts to do something about it.

Michael slammed the album shut and tossed it back into the closet.

You never appreciate what you have until it's gone... He repeated the phrase several times in his mind, staring into the cluttered pit.

Eventually, his gaze trailed off towards the window again, for the hundredth time that day. It was much dimmer outside now, and the clouds that had been red earlier had faded to purple. Michael's eyes ran over the same trees and the same houses that he had been looking at for his entire life.

He knew Patricia couldn't stay mad at him forever. But when she did forgive him, what would happen next? He'd probably be forced to raise the Turtwig, and let the Stunky go. Patricia would detach him from his best friends, then proceed to sign him up for science club once summer was out. A Brian-in-the-making. She'd fill all his college applications before they would even get to him, and he'd be shipped off to some distant college, studying something he didn't even care about.

And then what? Michael scowled at the window. With her, my life is a void. She wants to control me like a fucking puppet. What if I don't want that? Just because Brian liked it doesn't mean I have to!

Michael's eyes shifted towards his desk, then almost by accident, found his school backpack slumped on the floor beside it. He sat up. The zipper was partially open, with torn notebooks peeking out of the pocket. As he stared at it, Michael felt an idea dawning upon him. It did so in stages, like the gradual pull of the tides, which crept further after every retreat till they came back to sweep the whole shore.

I don't have to follow her orders. I can make my own future. Just like Richard. He felt himself smile.

Michael crawled over to the backpack and turned it over, emptying its contents onto the carpet. Then he stood and went around his room, refilling it bit by bit. He packed a change of clothes, and a pair of socks. He broke open his piggy bank, folding the last of the money into his wallet, and zipped it up into an inner pocket. Then he scooped the pile of candy on his desk and dropped it in as well. Lastly, he packed a notebook and pencils, figuring he might want to write to his friends.

With his backpack full, Michael rose to his feet and gave his room a final once-over. It was by no means empty. His shelves looked chock-full even after the cleaning, and the lump of junk was still there at the center of the room, practically on the verge of collapse. Not so long ago, Michael would brag to his friends about how much his posters meant to him, and how his records were of top-notch quality. But now, he never wanted to see any of it again. What had once been his pride and joy now only reminded him of his pathetic state.

Just as he began to turn for the door, a faint squeal cut him off. The Stunky was whining again. Michael dropped the backpack and rushed to open the closet. The pokémon was there as expected, with its tail drooping and its eyes narrowed from the sudden light. Michael scowled down at it.

"What do you want now, Skanky? I'm leaving, you got what you wanted. No more nasty, good-for-nothing hooligan on your back."

He stepped away, but the Stunky squealed again, making him turn back.

"What, what is it?"

The Stunky eyed him unblinkingly.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "You pokémon have given me nothing but trouble. All you do is freaking look at me. You think you’re so intelligent, you think you deserve some kind of special treatment, but you just run around everywhere like pests. You get in the way and you whine and you... what? Stop staring at me!"

He got no response. Michael groaned.

"Do you want a playmate or something? Here!" He pulled the pokéball from the windowsill and twisted it open, releasing a burst of light. When the Turtwig had emerged, he unlatched the Stunky's cage and set his starter beside it. "Your new friend. Happy together? Go play or something." Michael backed away.

He realized what he had done a second too late.

The Stunky let out a screech of freedom, and tore across the room towards the door.

"NO!" Michael exclaimed. "Get back!"

He dove after it, but his hands gripped empty air, and he fell to his stomach. The puffy purple tail bounced as the pokémon raced down the stairs into the living room. He scrambled to his feet, but before he could stand up, something else rammed into his leg and knocked him down again. A second cry rushed past him.

"TURTURTUR!"

"Get back, you cretins!" Michael shouted.

The Turtwig ignored him. As he watched it hop down the stairs, Michael's hands flew to his head. "Argh! I'm such a fucking ditz!"

He grabbed the cage and the pokéball and ran for the stairs, forgetting all about Patricia, feeling only the storm of anger churning inside of him.

He stomped down to the bottom floor and swept his gaze over the living room, and his eyes locked on a dark, moving projectile. The Stunky was scurrying around the couch, and the Turtwig was snapping at its heels, barking madly. They scampered all over the furniture, displacing pillows and bumping tables.

Michael tried to run after them, but compared to their speed, he was a lumbering giant. The moving bodies zipped around and between his feet, but no matter how quickly he turned, all he could assess was the trail of damage they left behind. The Stunky’s claws tore gashes in the rugs, and feathers spilled from the pillows of the armchair, whipping up in flurries when the pokémon zipped past. Finally, Michael caught sight of the Stunky as it fled the sitting area, running in the direction of the kitchen and front door. But instead of going all the way, it turned into a corner and dove between the legs of a tall metal table, which held Patricia’s favorite vase. At the same time, the Turtwig skid to a stop and rounded on its cornered prey.

Michael stopped cold.

The Turtwig began to creep forward slow steps, his chin lowered to the carpet like a canine’s. Meanwhile, the twitching Stunky tried to push itself even farther against the wall. The vase gave a slight wobble, and Michael clenched his fist.

If that thing breaks... I'll kill both of them.

The Turtwig continued to advance on the table, pointing forward with the branch on its head, which was sprouting with leaves. Instead of going for the kill, however, the pokémon stopped a couple feet away and stood there, growling. Michael approached, and when he had reached its side, the Turtwig looked up at him with shining eyes.

It took Michael a few seconds to realize what he was seeing. The Turtwig had cornered the Stunky. It had helped him.

Michael stood there for a moment, the pokéball and cage hanging limp at his sides. "Well... cool."

With a smile, he unlatched the cage door and kneeled down in front of the table. "Here, Stunky Stunky. Back to your home."

He snapped his fingers, but the Stunky didn’t move.

Damn it, smart Stunky! Michael gritted his teeth.

He scooted closer, pushing himself and the cage as carefully as he could. “Come on, get in the cage.” He continued to crawl forward, till he felt his head bump against the glass table, and saw the legs sway.

No... please no...

The more his fear mounted, the more he grimaced. "Come on, you good-for-nothing buttface! Get in!" Michael placed the cage down at an angle, and reached from the other side to grab the Stunky’s tail. Its body remained still as his fingers inched towards it, but right as he felt them graze its fur, the Stunky snarled and jumped away. It pushed past the cage and went for the kitchen.

"No, you skag! Argh!" Michael turned around and started to rise to his knees. But midway, he felt his shoulder bump against something hard, which gave way beneath it moments later. He looked over, but it was too late — the vase and table were tipping to the side, and in a matter of seconds there was a loud bang and crack as the vase split in three against the floor.

The Turtwig took off like a bomb, racing after the Stunky, barking as loud as a siren. Michael rushed after them, forgetting about the mess, wanting only to stop the damage before it could spread. He burst into the kitchen and saw the Stunky running circles around the room, bumping and scratching at the appliances. The Turtwig chased after it, blocking it whenever it tried to escape the room, and gradually forced it into a corner. Then the Turtwig lowered its chin, brandishing the branch on its head, and began to whip it from side to side. With each swipe, a leaf dislodged from the branch and sliced through the air like a razor, striking Stunky’s skin and bouncing off. The Stunky screeched and backed away towards the sink, where the Turtwig made a daring leap and tackled it to the ground.

Michael acted immediately. He opened the cage all the way and slammed it over the Stunky, letting the Turtwig wriggle free. He lifted the cage, scooping the Stunky up along with it, and locked the door. When everything was secure, he let out a breath, and twirled the cage so that the pokémon’s face was directly in front of his.

"There. And you're never coming out again. Hear me?" Michael banged the cage with his hand, and the Stunky growled.

"Tur-tur!"

Michael looked down. The Turtwig was looking up at the cage as well, rather proudly. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you helped, all right? But you're going in too." He twisted open the silver pokéball and aimed it at the Turtwig. A bolt of light escaped the capsule and struck the pokémon, turning its body into a white silhouette. Moments later, it was sucked away and vanished.

Michael was just about to put it into his backpack when he heard a clatter from an upstairs room.

"Michael?" came a voice. "Michael!"

Patricia had stirred. Her footsteps were growing louder.

Shit! There was no time to put the pokéball away. Michael rushed to the front door and unlocked it. From somewhere behind him, he heard a gasp. Patricia had seen the vase.

"Michael, where are you? What happened in here?"

Hope you like living alone! Michael smiled. He slipped through the door and closed it quietly, then hobbled away as fast as his load would allow.

Once he had cleared the driveway and made it to the sidewalk, he slid behind a large bush and sat there for a moment, catching his breath. Through the leaves and branches, Michael could see patches of his house. The door was still closed, which meant that Patricia either hadn’t heard him leave, or didn't care. Either way, she definitely couldn't see him here.

Michael waited for a few more minutes, and when he was certain the door wouldn’t open, he removed a candy bar from his backpack to settle his growling stomach.

Beside him, the Stunky pawed at the wall of cage. "Stu stu!"

"Shut it!" Michael hissed. "I didn't eat dinner. And no, you can't have any. This has to last me for the entire night, maybe even breakfast tomorrow."

The Stunky fell silent. Michael turned his head to face the street, following its path with his eyes. It went down, down, down, all the way to the beginnings of the city. In that distant strip of land, Jubilife shone with nighttime activity.

Once he had finished eating, Michael got up and continued to walk at a casual pace, eying the rows of houses he passed. Some glowed from inside like jack-o-lanterns, and others were completely dark, meaning that their owners had left for the summer. Michael knew the community's every curve and bump, after years of running and playing in it. It was the place he loved, but it was also the place he had to get away from.

His footsteps thumped soft and alone against the sidewalk, in tune with the beat of his heart.

The neighborhood wasn't gated, nor did it have an official name. Its exit was marked by a sign that read 'JUBILIFE CITY - 0.5 MILES'. When Michael reached it, he paused, and looked out at the dark, quiet road.

Am I really doing this? Am I really about to run away? The absurdity of his actions unsettled him. After all, where would he go? What chance did he stand at thirteen, with five dollars in his wallet?

Michael looked back. Somewhere among the sea of houses was his. Patricia had probably realized the house was empty, and was having a hysterical fit. Or, she might have gone back to her room, too lazy to investigate.

Either way, he thought, I'm sick of that place. And whatever my future is, I want to build it myself.

Michael exhaled. His decision was made. He hoisted his backpack onto both shoulders, tightened his grip on the cage, and started forward.

Both his brothers had left the house when they could, setting off on their own to start a new life. Now it was his turn.






A/N: A bit on the short side... yes. But after this, the chapters will be getting longer. The next one's gonna be practically a mega-chapter :P (Might be exaggerating a bit, but it's definitely longer than this.) See you all next chapter!

Bay August 8th, 2010 9:56 PM

Interesting backstory of Michael and his family there. I was right Michael and his mother’s relationship has something to do with what happened in the family before. :P Seriously though, what really got to me is the aftermath of the father’s death. Seemed the family quite changed a lot after that incident. That tends to happen a lot in real life.

As for Michael running away, pretty much it’s the usual over protective/over controlling parent reason as to why a child would run away that I saw many times in Pokemon fanfics. However, it’s understandable since Michael can’t handle the home life anymore and needed to do something to have a better life. Also, considering Rowan is going to be a Pokemon researcher in the end, I’m looking forward to see how he was able to get through that path.

I quite enjoyed the part where Skunty ran away and Turtwig helping Michael to get him. Looks like the Turtwig will help Michael out during their journey.

Looks like things are getting started now. Looking forward to Michael’s journey to the real world. :P

Yuoaman August 8th, 2010 11:49 PM

Wow, I'm glad I checked this thread out, it's actually inspiring me to get back to writing my own fan-fic, which I had given up on months ago. The style you are using is actually very organic, and I didn't feel disconnected at any point during the story, which is odd for a fan-fic. The character of Rowan is also someone I can understand, I can't quite like him, but I understand why he acts as he does, and I'm definitely going to enjoy reading his character arc.

Also in the newest chapter:

"This had been his brothers." should be "This had been his brother's."

indinrio August 9th, 2010 2:22 AM

Yay, another chapter! I'm glad to see that Mike is finally starting on his journey. I really like how you used the previous few chapters to build up a three-dimensional image of your protagonist; really fleshed him out to the audience before throwing him into his actual adventure. It makes him seem much more real in our minds than, say, a random kid who just woke up with the sun high in the sky, ate breakfast with deep-fried bacon and a glass of full-cream milk, arrived at the Prof's lab late and inexplicably obtained both a Charmander named BlazerFlarerPyroKillerMon and a poor abandoned Eevee named TitusYunaForeva within the space of a single, poorly formatted paragraph. (So I exaggerate a little, but I'm sure you get my point. :P) It makes him seem like a person who we all personally know in some way or another, that gifted yet angsty rebel-without-a-cause, and while we may not yet really like or root for him, at least we can picture him, and in a way, understand him.

One thing that really stood out for me in this chapter is the way you incorporated Mike's backstory so effortlessly and naturally into the narrative flow. The use of his brother's photo album as a narrative device was not necessarily the most original method I've read, but you certainly made it work! I've read hundreds of stories which clumsily insert whole paragraphs of backstory in the middle of nowhere, completely screwing up the flow of action (often using dramatic italics to show that the protagonist is remembering something), and I'm glad you didn't end up resorting to that messy and incredibly lazy method.

Lastly, one more point I really like about your story is how Michael is essentially the same person from chapter to chapter. It may not seem such a big deal, but after seeing countless fanfics featuring schizophrenics as main characters (smart one second, semi-retarded the other, total cowards on Monday, Braveheart on Tuesday, the personification of eternal angstiness in the morning, Jim Carrey mixed with Eddie Murphy on Prozaic in the afternoon... you get my drift), it's inexpressibly refreshing to see evidence that the author has clearly thought through their character's personality beforehand, and has constructed the plot around their traits rather than the other way around.

Well, I figure I've rambled a bit too long, so I'll leave now and wish you luck on the next chapter. Hope you update soon. :)

Haruka of Hoenn August 9th, 2010 6:33 AM

Bay: Yup, this chapter's the big turning point of the story. The Turtwig is gonna play a pretty big role, as is the Stunky of course. Thanks for the review!

Yuoaman: Better go on and fix that typo now... Good eye. :P I'm happy you liked my story, and thanks for stopping by.

indinrio: I know perfectly well what you mean. Thank you for the in-depth analysis :P Glad you liked the chapters!

Thank you all for the reviews! See you next chapter.

1 week, as usual.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ August 9th, 2010 10:08 PM

Ah, family issues... I've seen it before where one traumatic event can tear a family apart and cause other family members to undergo huge changes in personality (the character Nanaka in the anime "Myself; Yourself" is another great example of this) and it makes sense that losing his father would cause Michael in a way, to lose himself as well and become the person he is now. The thing that I'm looking forward to now is, how will this next chapter in his life change him from the person he is now to the person he will become.

And the Turtwig/Stunky scene was a nice addition, revealing that Turtwig at this point is still willing to help Michael out, unlike Stunky who is (understandably so) terrified of him. Time will tell whether Michael's relationship with both of these Pokemon will improve or get worse.

One thing I can't help but wonder... How is Patricia (that's my mom's name too, lol) reacting to Michael leaving home behind closed doors. I knew she was putting on a brave face as he left, but what's her true reaction to it?

I think it will be very interesting to see Michael's first experiences out on his own and I eagerly await the next chapter :)

Haruka of Hoenn August 10th, 2010 5:26 AM

Hey, thanks for stopping by. Your interpretation (and everyone else's, for the matter) of the Stunky+Turtwig scene was correct, though there will be a bit more to it.

And as for Patricia, she'll still be around, but in a more indirect way. The story is told in Michael's point of view, so I won't literally be switching off to her during the story. But she'll still be there... ;)

Thanks for the review!

Haruka of Hoenn August 20th, 2010 5:41 AM

Okay, here's five now. It's a bit late because I've been busy with other things, but I hope that doesn't affect the quality in any way... :P

0.5

Jubilife City appeared in stages.

First came the famous ledge, the natural hill that the city stood upon. It raised the downtown above everything else, like a princely estate among cornfields, and as Michael followed the upward slope, he soon found himself a good few meters higher than the land behind him. The structures here were small and plain, things like family-owned businesses and gas stations. The houses were all propped up on stilts that made sure they stood horizontally, but the effect was a drab, rickety look that made it seem like they could collapse at any moment. Few cars lingered here, and the ones that did reflected the washed-out state of everything else. Michael watched as a rusty Oldsmobile passed by, spewing brown exhaust from its tailpipe.

No show, no go... he thought with a snicker.

As he continued farther up, the city grew cleaner, and the roadways smooth. Now he saw billboards with smiling people and pokémon, warmly welcoming him to the downtown and urging him to stop and get a cool haircut. The sidewalk widened, making room for dozens of little stands and booths, where street vendors displayed racks of souvenirs, food, and novelties. The items were all horribly overpriced, yet people gathered around in droves to buy them.

Michael had spent his fair share of time in the downtown, from weekend outings to forced shopping journeys, and countless adventures with his friends. He knew West Jubilife like the back of his hand, but the farther east he went, the more his sense of direction faltered, and the more the buildings and crowds seemed to compress together, forming rivers of congestion.

Most of the people around him were high-school students going wild on their summer break, strolling about the streets while the night was still young. They walked in cliques amid puffs of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, crowding out the businesspeople to the sides of walkways. Across the street, Michael caught sight of a tall blonde in a knee-length miniskirt. Her arm was draped over the shoulder of an older, muscular guy, but it was safe to look from a distance. She was prettier than most of the girls at his school, who preferred to keep their hair tied and their faces unpainted, or did their makeup to such an extent that their faces seemed like porcelain masks. But this girl was the perfect middle boundary. He could detect a bit of eyeshadow and lipstick, but other than that, she was a natural beauty. Michael's gaze lingered on her as the couple walked, finally turning to enter a pub.

Nice, he thought with a smile. Just ditch Big Nose over there and you'll be swell.

A few minutes later, Michael’s gaze found a different girl — a brunette with unbelievably curly hair standing in front of an opened doorway. She was somewhat bigger than the blonde and wore thick-rimmed glasses. He wasn’t the type to judge a girl on the fact that she wore glasses (his previous girlfriend had worn them and looked mighty fine) so at first the brunette seemed all right, until he was close enough to read the sign she was holding: "Join the National Science League! Donations accepted inside!"

Michael was instantly reminded of school, and quickened his pace. From then on, he kept his wandering eyes fixed ahead. The cool kids drove cars, anyway.

As he progressed, the cars on the road became shinier and more exquisite, to the point where Michael had to stop to admire them. They glimmered in the light like candy wrappers, their bumpers bearing names like 'Chevrolet' and 'Pontiac'. He must have looked pretty idiotic, standing there with his lips parted, but Michael didn't care.

I'll have one of those someday. The best car there is, and I'll have it.

He made his pledge while eying a red Ford Galaxie. The model was a tribute to the Team Galactic rocket of the same name, and featured a bulky frame with shiny stripes along the side. A man was sitting in the driver's seat, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses and one arm carelessly dangling out over the door. For a moment, Michael imagined himself in his place. It felt good, even though he knew he might never get that much.

No one around him seemed to care that he was carrying a Stunky with him, though on one occasion he thought he heard someone coo, "Aw, look at the cute little trainer!" Michael couldn't see the face behind the voice, so he kept going, his cheeks stinging. The Stunky, meanwhile, was exploring the city in its own mammalian way. It scurried around, eyes blinking, probably also transfixed by the city's beauty. For a brief moment, Michael wondered what it must feel like to be a pokémon, to leave your home and be surrounded by so many unfamiliar things. From inside the cage, the world must have seemed bigger than life. In that sense, they were alike.

After a few more minutes of walking, Michael reached the heart of Central Jubilife. He knew it when he saw the fountain — a magnificent bowl that stood in an open square, shooting out tall plumes of water. The lights around it flashed all sorts of colors, dyeing the streams green, blue, red, and everything else imaginable. The fountain was surrounded by a garden, with vines that reached up to embrace the stone bowl. People sat in benches around it, talking, playfully rocking their feet.

For a moment, Michael listened to the rushing streams.

So this is what freedom feels like. He inhaled, and could almost taste the water through the air. What would Cory and Brendan say?

He stood on the sidewalk for a long while, then gathered his thoughts and pressed on. He crossed another street, keeping himself occupied by glancing at the windows he passed. Among the hair salons, candy shops, and clothing boutiques, his eyes found a bookstore. Its door was bright and new, to his almost comic observation, as if not many people had used it. The store was called Fran's Books. For some reason or another, he saw himself enter.

Inside, the store was clean and quiet, with walls of shelves that reached all the way up to the ceiling. Once the door closed behind him, the sounds of the city vanished, replaced by the buzzing of ceiling lamps.

The only person there was a female clerk, who sat behind a semicircular counter, reading a newspaper. Her area was a little island of light, while in the back room, the bookcases were masked in shadow. When the woman saw Michael, her eyebrows perked in greeting. Her name tag read, simply, 'Fran'.

"Hello," she said. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone this late. I try to save energy this time of year, since not a lot of people come in." She flipped a light switch behind her, and the other room lit up.

"Why not?" asked Michael.

The woman shrugged. "I don't know. Summer, I guess. Everyone's out having fun, going to dances, and I'm the only one sitting inside reading."

"I like books," Michael said. It was true, actually. When he was younger, he sometimes stole Brian's books to keep himself entertained during boring class sessions. But for some reason, his interest had dwindled over the years. Stepping into a bookstore was like stepping back into childhood.

Meanwhile, the clerk smiled. "Good for you. You know, I've been noticing that people who read are less likely to get into trouble."

Michael stifled a laugh. Well that can't be true.

"And they also end up leading better lives," she continued. "These young people... all they care about is self-indulgence. Most of my friends wouldn't take a book into their hands if they were forced to. It's a choice you have to make early on, you know. Pay now, play later, or play now and pay later." She chuckled.

Michael didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.

"Sorry, I'm rambling," the woman said. "I work by myself most of the time, so my mind tends to run." She leaned back and took the newspaper back into her hands. "So you wanna have a look around?"

"I guess," Michael said.

The clerk nodded. Her eyes went to the cage. "But be careful with that Stunky of yours. Some of these books are really old."

"Okay."

"Just holler if you need me."

Michael went to the back room and began to pace around, reading the titles that surrounded him. Most of the spines were tattered, their text faded. It occurred to him that this might have been secondhand shop.

Beside him, he felt the Stunky shift around. Michael picked a book from the shelf and turned it over to read the cover. It was a history book of some sort, and its binding was worn from years of being passed along. On the back, Michael saw the price tag — ten dollars. His eyes bulged.

"That's a really old book," said the woman from up front. "It's about ancient pokémon."

"It's expensive," Michael said.

"Like I said, it's old! And it's a special edition that is rarely reprinted nowadays. I actually got it off a—" Her sentence was cut short by a loud rrip. By the time Michael realized what it was, it was too late.

He had lowered his arm without realizing it, letting the bottom corner of the book dip into the cage. The Stunky had locked its jaws around it, soaking the pages with saliva.

"No, no! Bad Stunky!" Michael tried to yank the book loose, but the Stunky's grip was iron. The clerk nearly fell out of her chair. She was at Michael's side in seconds.

"It'll ruin the binding!" she screeched. "Get it off, quick!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Michael shook the cage violently, bumping it against his knee and the shelves, causing two books to fall to the floor. But the harder he tugged, the stronger the Stunky held.

"Get it off, get it off!" The woman’s voice reached a hysterical high. Her hands moved frantically around the cage, fingers poking through the gaps in the bars. Somehow, she managed to reach inside with her thumb and gripped the Stunky’s tail.

"No, don’t!" Michael began, but before he could finish, a jet of green gas shot out at the woman's face. She let out a yelp and fell backwards, arms flying up. The cloud of stink rose and spread, and Michael backed away with a cringe, eyes watering.

The woman slid down against the shelf and plopped to the floor. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her mouth was hanging open.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" With one final exertion, Michael pulled the book out of the Stunky's mouth. He held it up to inspect it, but the damage had already been done. The entire bottom half was in ruins, and a page jutted out like a hanging tongue. Teeth marks stood out from where the Stunky had been holding.

The store was silent for a few moments.

"Oh no..." The woman rose slowly to her feet. A muscle beneath her left eye twitched.

In his mind, Michael kicked himself. He hadn't been in the store for five minutes, and already something had gone wrong.

"I'm sorry! It was an accident!" he said. "Here, take your book." He placed it in her shaking hands.

"This... do you know how much this meant to me? Ten entire dollars, wasted..." The woman’s eyes were bloodshot from the chemical reaction made by the musk.

"It was the Stunky's fault, not mine!" Michael said.

The clerk cleared her throat and ran her fingers through her hair. "It's okay, I guess it's not your fault. That book was about to fall apart anyway." To his surprise, she began laughing. "Heh! It's sure gonna need some repair."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but whatever it was didn't come out. Instead, her eyes fell on the cage. Her expression softened a little as she kneeled down beside it.

"Oh, you poor thing. You're probably hungry. Is that why you bit my book? Huh, little fella?" The woman placed a hand on the cage, and the Stunky shrank back from it. All of a sudden, she seemed to forget that her favorite book was in ruins and that she smelled like vomit.

"Uh... so, do I have to pay for the book?" Michael asked.

The woman looked back up at him, arching her eyebrows. "Your pokémon looks awfully hungry, kid."

"I... well, yeah, I know, but that's not the—”

The woman rose to her full height, her face towering well above his. "That thing is all skin and bones. Are you sure it's okay?"

Michael nodded. "It's fine."

"It doesn't look too good. Were you gonna take it to a vet?"

Michael shook his head. "No, it's fine, really. So do you want me to pay? I mean, I can if you want me to, whatever."

The woman didn't seem to be hearing him. She looked at the Stunky, frowning.

"Look, I can pay for the book! If you want me to." Michael repeated. The intensity of her gaze was unsettling him.

"Why are you keeping it in a cage like this? Most people just let their pokémon walk on a leash."

Michael exhaled. Why did she keep switching the subject? "I don't know. Okay? This is all I have."

"Where did you get it anyway? Are you a trainer?"

"It's none of your business! And no, I'm not a trainer!" Michael retorted. "If you don't want me to pay, then I'll go." He began to back away, but the woman advanced towards him.

"You know, trainers are the only minors permitted to carry pokémon with them. So if you don't have a trainer card, having that Stunky with you is illegal. Plus, it doesn't appear to be in very good health."

"It's perfectly fine!"

The woman shook her head. "You know, if you're not a trainer and you're not with an adult, I can assume that it's not yours and you're abusing it. That poor pokémon is shaking. Look at it! Does that mean anything to you?"

Michael took a quick peek at the Stunky. Yes it was shaking, but he always thought it was from fright, not hunger. Didn't he feed it earlier? What more could it want?

"I don't care! I mean, just..." Michael groaned, but for some reason the words weren’t coming out the way he wanted them to.

The woman's eyes widened. "You don't care?"

Michael pressed his palm to his forehead. "I can pay for the book," he said. "Then I'll leave, okay? I know I'm not a trainer, but I swear, this is my Stunky. I caught him myself and I put him in the cage because if I don't, he’ll run away! Okay?"

The woman didn’t answer. Her expression was clouded, and she looked down at Michael as if he were some sort of maniac.

"No... just get out of my store," she said slowly.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Because—"

"Just get out! You little monster." The woman stepped past him and went back to her desk. Then she did something that surprised him. She threw the book into the trash can, letting it fall into the scrap like a worthless piece of paper.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Fine," he murmured. "Buy another one."

By the time he left the store and resumed his walk, the Stunky was growing restless. Michael could feel the vibrations it made as it circled around, and he shook the cage up and down to make it stop.

"Shut up, shut up!" Michael said. "It's all your fault anyway, Skanky. You should be happy if I decide to feed you by next week." The Stunky made no reply. Michael continued down the sidewalk, dodging anyone who got in his way. His mind was churning.

What a moron... How am I a monster? She was the one who tried to butt into my business. Now she can spend her own money to buy another book. What do I care?

But for some reason, he did. What the clerk said had displaced something within him. And no matter how he turned the conversation in his mind, he could wring no other meaning from of her words. Her intention had been very clear — you, Michael Rowan, are a monster for starving the Stunky.

He had been called worse before. So why did this accusation bother him?

Michael kept replaying the previous few minutes in his mind as he walked. He had stopped reading the street signs, and was now wandering aimlessly, with no idea where he even was. He drove himself to such extent that the sounds of the city began echoing strangely in his ears, and some of the signs became blurry to him. On top of it all, he was feeling a painful rumbling at the pit of his stomach. The candy bar from earlier had done nothing to chase away his hunger.

I need some real food... Michael pursed his lips thoughtfully. Looking around, he saw that there were a few restaurants around him, but they were all bars and nightclubs that looked as if they'd offer him a fight before they'd offer him food. He kept walking, till he came across a sign that read 'Joe's Supreme Sandwiches'. Without hesitation, Michael went inside.

The store consisted of a single room, furnished with a few round tables and a row of booths along the walls. The wallpaper was a dingy yellow, and elevator music crackled over the chatter of seated customers. A glass display beside the front counter showed rows of colorful sandwiches, piled with meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, and countless other things. Michael's stomach rumbled again.

He approached the counter, where a man stood, assembling a sub with gloved hands. When Michael stopped by the register, he looked up.

"No pokémon allowed in the restaurant.”

Michael tore his eyes from the display and looked down at the Stunky. It was still a bit shaky from the bookstore, and looked ready to pounce. "Sorry. I can't really get rid of it right now."

The clerk sighed. "Whatever. As long as that thing doesn't urinate on my floor. If it does, you're cleaning it up. Understood?"

Michael nodded.

"All right. What will you be having?"

"Can I have the sandwich you're making?"

The clerk shook his head. "Nope. This one's for me. My genius of a manager doesn't give me much time for lunch breaks." He bit off a corner of the sandwich and began to chew. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

"Okay... how much is a beef?”

"Fifty cents."

Michael nodded and dropped his backpack to the floor. He squatted down and began a very long, very awkward search for his money. The clerk didn’t complain. He waited for Michael to hand him a dollar bill, then reached into the display to pull out a large sandwich. He slapped it onto a tray and pushed it towards Michael, along with his change.

"Anything to drink?"

"Water."

Michael handed over his change in return for a water bottle, and went to look for an empty table. The café was considerably full for its size. He looked around the room, then suddenly, his eyes locked on a single face, and he recognized the blonde girl he had seen before. She was sitting alone at a booth, absently stirring a cup of tea. Their gazes met for a moment. Before he pulled away, Michael noticed that her eyes were a deep amber.

He turned in the opposite direction and found an empty booth, and slid into the corner until he was well out of sight. He placed the Stunky beneath the table and took a long drink of water. But just as he lifted the sandwich to his mouth, he heard a loud peep from beneath the table.

Some people turned their heads. Michael quickly looked down, and saw that the Stunky had begun to pace around again. He glared at it for a few moments. It gave another squeal. Feeling sorry for it, Michael tore off a bit of his sandwich and tossed it into the cage. The Stunky threw itself upon it, and backed away with it into the darkness. Quiet at last.

He finished his sandwich without any further interruptions, and left the café with a satisfied stomach. He strolled up the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, looking around at the buildings with renewed interest. A large slip of the sky was visible overhead, completely black against the glare of light.

Michael was watching the cars go by when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me," said a mellow voice. Female.

He turned, and at first he couldn't believe his eyes. The blonde was standing three feet away from him. He could see her features in detail now — thin waist, long nose, pink lips. Freckles. She was definitely older than him, probably by about four years. The oldest girl he had flirted with was one grade above him, but that was nothing compared to this.

The blonde's eyes were narrowed, and she seemed to be in deep thought.

"Uh... hello," Michael said. Oh God, do I have crumbs on my mouth? He casually reached up and wiped it with the back of his hand. It was a stupid move, something a class nerd would have done, but the girl didn't seem to notice.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" she said. "I'm sorry, but you look really familiar."

"I saw you... walk into a pub earlier today."

Whatever she was about to say she bit back, giggling. "Uh, no. I don't mean that. From a distance, you looked exactly like someone I know. What's your name?"

"Michael."

The girl’s face lit up for a moment, but then the smile vanished. "No, no, I made a mistake. Sorry about that. For a second, you two looked really similar..."

"Who's the guy?"

The girl shook her head dismissively. "Just a friend from Slateport."

"Oh, so you're not from here?"

"No. I live in Hoenn. I'm visiting my cousin for the summer." She crossed her arms. "But he's more interested in the beer quality than the landmarks. He didn't even give me a map."

"Do you need directions or anything?" Michael said immediately. "I'm pretty familiar with this place, so..."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that. I'll only slow you down." Her eyes fell on the cage. "And it looks like you have enough to carry already."

In his mind, Michael winced. "It's okay, I mean, it's not really that heavy."

But the girl shook her head. "It's okay. Honestly, I'll be fine. At any rate, I should be getting back to the pub. My cousin's probably wondering where I am." She gave a smile, and waved. "It was nice meeting you, Michael."

"Nice meeting you too," he began, but stopped. He hadn't even gotten the girl's name. All he could do was watch as her form grew smaller and smaller in the distance, till it was finally swallowed by the crowd.

Michael swallowed. Well don't I have the best luck in the world. He could almost picture his friends laughing at him for passing up such an opportunity.

He continued up the sidewalk sourly, no longer paying attention to where he was going. As the Stunky began to move about again, he felt spite bubble up inside of him.

This thing has cost me my summer, it’s cost me my friends, it’s cost me my freedom, and now it’s cost me a chick. Shit, I hate pokémon!

Michael crossed a few more streets, rounded a few more corners. By the time he reached East Jubilife, his legs were aching and he had to stop at a bench to rest. He heaved himself and his backpack onto the seat and took several deep breaths.

The city had long lost its magic. The lights were giving him a headache, and the car horns blared painfully in his ears. It felt like he had walked a hundred miles. Looking out, Michael could see nothing but buildings, roads, and cars. The city was endless. He would be trapped in here forever, doomed to an eternity of walking, walking, and getting nowhere. He would starve, and his carcass would wash away into the gutters.

Michael took his head into his hands. I'm crazy. I've completely wigged out.

He leaned back into the bench and took a look around. Maybe I can find a hotel or something... I can beg them to let me stay for free... I don't know how, but I'll do it.

Beside him, the Stunky shifted. Michael frowned. I wonder how much someone would pay for a wild Stunky...

The pokémon cocked its head, probably not even aware of its own nose. Michael rolled his eyes.

He could see nothing around him that indicated an inn or hotel of any kind. All he could see were shops, stands, and diners that now seemed to serve no purpose other than taking up space.

He was about to close his eyes in resignation when, at the edge of his vision, he saw something flash. A sign. It was covered in black letters that spelled out something, but he couldn't tell what.

Michael sat up and turned his head around towards the building. It was tall and square, with a giant satellite dish perched on top. The flashing board hung right above the entrance, the text illuminated by a backlight, with dozens of tiny bulbs flashing along its perimeter:

"WELCOME TO THE CITY OF DREAMS! JUBILIFE TELEVISION STATION IS YOUR NUMBER ONE SOURCE FOR ALL THINGS NEW AND CURRENT! TUNE IN EVERY DAY AT 12:00 TO RECEIVE THE LATEST UPDATES ON YOUR FAVORITES... JUKEBOX, THE SPACE RACE, AND MORE!"

Beneath the sign, crowds were pouring in and out of three rotating doors, revealing brief slips of a thriving lobby.

The TV Station! Michael’s heart fluttered. I can catch up on The Space Race! Yes!

Without a second to spare, he gathered his things and scrambled to his feet.

"Excuse me, excuse me!" He dodged the passersby and ran up to the street. Taking a brief look both ways, Michael ran across it, eliciting a chorus of angry beeps. Still without stopping, he pushed through one of the doors and stumbled into the lobby.

Inside was a world of noise and lights. The entering crowd trailed off in separate directions, attaching itself to various groups that gathered along the walls, watching stacks of flashing televisions, examining racks of newspapers, or displays of the latest radio models. At the center of the room was a tall, round counter, where three clerks jabbered into telephones. At the very back was a row of elevators, and two staircases that spiraled up to the higher floors.

Michael paused to look around with every step he took, eyes widened, wanting to take as much of it in as possible. His gaze lingered on the TV screens, which came in various sizes, and seemed to be positioned at every corner of the room. They were all showing different channels, but over the cloud of noise the programs were indecipherable. He didn’t know which one to go to first.

He searched in earnest for a few moments, before his gaze locked on the biggest group in the entire lobby. It wasn’t gathered around a television, however, but in front of a billboard. Michael couldn’t see what the people were looking at, but as he approached, he caught bits of their conversation:

"... knew this would happen one day..."

"... Rockets are kicking our asses, that's for sure..."

Michael stopped short. He tried to wheedle his way through, but before he could get to the billboard, his view became blocked by a man’s head.

"Excuse me.” Michael tapped his shoulder. "I can't see."

The man turned around and scowled. "What's there to see? Haven't you been watching the news?"

"Not really," Michael snapped. "That's why I want to see what this is!"

"Have a good look at it then." The man walked off, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Michael stepped in to take his space, and the crowd closed in around him. The billboard was covered with newspapers and city announcements, but one issue was positioned in the center, the square page unfurled to its full size. Its heading was bigger than all the others, and its ink shone with pride as it boldly declared:

ROCKETS TELL ALL ABOUT NEW SPACE POKÉMON!

Earlier last month, Hoenn's Team Rocket launched an expedition to the moon. And on May 22nd, pictures were released of a new pokémon said to reside in space. It was first discovered in flight around the planet. The pokémon as been named 'Deoxys' by the scientists and, since its discovery, has undergone intensive testing. The Sinnoh Inquirer now brings you the updates directly from Team Rocket's laboratories at the Mossdeep Space Center.

"It's structure is different from anything we've ever seen before," says a spokesperson for Team Rocket. "We don't know a lot about it yet, but if we can find out then it might hold wonders for us."

Deoxys is equipped with many special adaptations that allow it to survive in the harsh environment of space. Current data has shown that it is capable of living entirely without oxygen, instead getting its energy from outside sources, among them cosmic radiation. Deoxys's unique body structure appears to mimic the mechanics of a spacecraft, enabling it to propel itself and change its course of flight. Where exactly this pokémon originated, and whether indeed space is its primary place of dwelling, are questions that still remain to be answered. More pictures will be released during the course of the next few weeks.


The rest of the page was taken up by articles and commentaries on the same topic, and at the bottom was a black-and-white image of the pokémon. Its body was thin and sleek. One of its arms was missing, and instead, two long wires protruded from its shoulder. Its face was round, and two knobs grew on either side of its head.

Michael reeled forward, pressing his hands to the surface of the billboard. "That's it?"

"Hey, move it kid! We can't see!" said someone from behind.

But Michael was too angry to pay attention. He had missed one week of updates, only to see that Sinnoh was behind. And not only behind, but trampled in the dirt. His heart began to pound.

"It's just a stupid pokémon!" he blurted. "It's not that hard to discover; why didn't Team Galactic do it first?"

"They're lazy, that's why!" said a teenage girl beside him. "I swear if, they make us lose..."

"This sucks," Michael said. He let his hands slip from the paper and stepped back.

All around him, the people wore similar bleak expressions. They had likely known for days. Still, some of them were reading the text, their initial disappointment having blown away for a resigned sort of interest. But for Michael, the former was just kicking in.

One older boy scowled. “I can’t believe this. The Rockets were always the ones who said that nothing could survive outside the atmosphere. But they made the discovery. If the President said we’d be investigating space, then why are we watching other people do it?”

The girl from before shook her head. “Team Galactic is just full of itself. They’re all secretive and glamorous, but apparently they see it as an excuse to sit there and do nothing. If you ask me, we need a company that can keep its promises.” With that, she walked away, arms crossed. A few other people broke off from the group, and eventually, Michael did the same.

He walked to the exit in a stupor, gaze lowered to the floor.

Freaking dipsticks... all of them.

He barely noticed when he stepped out onto the street, and when the path ahead of him began to slope downwards. But he saw the buildings become sparser and lower, and the roadways veer off into highway exits, gradually separating the cars from the pedestrians. Soon the swarm of billboards returned, this time with mouths turned down and headings that read: 'LEAVING SO SOON?'.

But to Michael, it was all too easy to ignore. His mind was buzzing.

Team Rocket's a bunch of know-it-alls... Team Galactic sucks. Can’t believe I ever rooted for them…

His footsteps were hollow and heavy. As the sounds of the city grew fainter, an iron fence in the distance grew bigger.

Behind it, Route 203 lay in darkness. Michael wondered how comfortable a tree would be. He cringed at the thought, but realized that there was no other choice. Until he found a way to make more money, it would have to do.



//////



There was no guard or gate at the city limit, just a wide, dirt path leading into the wilderness. For a city like Jubilife, such an abrupt exit was both silly and unsettling. But Michael didn’t care to ponder it. He stepped through, passing the route sign, letting the lights and sounds fade for the silence.

His field of vision was covered in splotches from where the lights had been, and it took a while to adjust to the darkness. Now that the sky was no longer blocked by skyscrapers, it suddenly unraveled and rolled off into the infinity, laying out a carpet of stars.

As he walked, Michael stared up at them, lost in thought.

Deoxys is out there somewhere ... and God knows what else.

Stupid Team Rocket... gonna beat Sinnoh...

You're a monster, Michael. Monster...


The trees and shrubs around him formed pockets of shadows, and stood out like ghosts on either side of the path. Michael walked for a few minutes, battling his exhaustion, till it grew so strong that it started to weigh down his limbs. He abandoned all reserve, forgetting that he had never set foot in Route 203 and had no idea what lived there, or how big it even was.

Michael veered from the path and sank into the softest-looking grass he saw, right beside a tree. He lowered the cage and backpack beside him and curled up into a comfortable position. Gradually, the lights and sounds rushed away from his memory, the sea of faces blurred, and the sting of his disappointments faded as sleep overtook him.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ August 20th, 2010 10:42 AM

Ooh, very nice :) The descriptions of Jubilife and all the action about town really set the mood :) (But why is it that every time I read one of your chapters I get the urge to go back and spruce up mine?) And as PC's resident old car buff, I was quite pleased with you including mention of real life cars from that era in your story :3

Quote:

You're a monster, Michael. Monster...
OMG Could Michael actually be feeling this emotion called... regret? In any event, it looks like this could hint at the start of some dramatic character change for him. It looks like it's gonna take some more pushing to get him to change his cold, cruel ways, but everybody's gotta start somewhere, right?

AND ROCKET > GALACTIC (Except in HG/SS due to poor leadership). But the Space Race does have something to do with science, which makes it seem appropriate that Michael is so passionate about it.. I'm just wondering if the two teams' discoveries will play a bigger role than just simply news on the radio and television.

Not much action this chapter, but the inkling of character development and change is there. And I do appreciate the research you're doing of this time period to make the setting more realistic... it definitely shows in this chapter :)

EDIT: Ford Galaxie FTW. That is one big manly mass of real American steel :)

Haruka of Hoenn August 20th, 2010 12:38 PM

Yeah, I know. Regret for Michael Rowan is like... D:

The two teams in the Space Race will play a bigger role, but not in the evil mastermind way. Their discoveries will advance the plot and characters. Not much else I can think of to say... just glad you liked the chapter! See you next time.

Octsia101 August 20th, 2010 5:18 PM

lol, so Michael is into girls......
I loved the scene at the bookstore; as for the woman running it- I feel bad for her.

Haruka of Hoenn August 21st, 2010 5:26 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Octsia101 (Post 6090265)
lol, so Michael is into girls......
I loved the scene at the bookstore; as for the woman running it- I feel bad for her.

Well yeah, of course he'd be into girls at his age. I have to make it realistic :P

Thanks for reading!

Gardenia101 August 21st, 2010 5:20 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Haruka of Hoenn (Post 6091355)
Well yeah, of course he'd be into girls at his age. I have to make it realistic :P

Thanks for reading!

It does make it realistic.
And of course I've been reading, I'm on the PM list!

Speaking of which.... why didn't I get a PM when the newest chapter came out?

Haruka of Hoenn August 22nd, 2010 4:39 AM

Oh, sorry about that... I was in a bit of a hurry and I forgot :P

I should probably list my PM list in the first post... that'll help me remember. Thanks for reminding me.

Gardenia101 August 23rd, 2010 1:11 PM

No prob ^.^
Well, I'm assuming that, since this one was late, the "Schedule" will change (Will it come every Sunday)?

Haruka of Hoenn August 27th, 2010 12:43 PM

0.6


When Michael eased back into consciousness, the first thing he became aware of was a dull throbbing in his leg. He was leaning against something hard and uneven and... yes, he was sure it was making his back ache. Beneath him, the ground felt shifty and lumpy.


Where am I?


A few patches of light separated themselves from the darkness.


Was it all a dream? Am I back in my room?


His mother's angry face appeared before him, suspended in the oblivion. He had started a fight with her. She had said something to him... and then his anger got the better of him and he replied. She had left his room, and she had been so angry, but then again, hurt.


Ha ha.


He started to clean his room. But his backpack was there too; it was telling him to go.


Ha ha.


His room began to blink with color, and suddenly, it transformed into the Jubilife skyline. He had trudged across an entire city in a single night... and now a fresh jolt of pain squeezed his leg to remind him. He had decided to run away, with nothing but a backpack and a cage carried along with him.



The girl. Now her face popped into view, that slight frown and amber eyes. She had looked at the cage, and said that it was too heavy a burden. She had laughed. Probably should be getting back to her cousin now, yes, he drank too much and would need a ride home. Stupid Stunky. Always there to ruin the day.

Ruined his day. Team Rocket had ruined his day. No more Space Race... Deoxys was watching from up above. Laughing at him. Didn't want to sleep outside, but what choice did he have?


Then, a frozen image of the night sky. He had fallen asleep and the image vanished, replaced by a blank backdrop. The reel had ended.



But the laughter continued.


It had started out as a vague peal, but now it was slowly rising out... like something more than a memory.


Slowly and slowly, the patches of light took form, first into a canopy of trees. Tall, high off the ground. A blend of color became shrubbery, wild and overgrown. No one had stopped to maintain this route in months.


Next came the fence. White, picket maybe. It was broken and in some places the paint was chipped off.


A dirt path somewhere ahead, clean, but covered in footprints that previous travelers had left behind.

On it stood three figures.



First, a bulky frame which became a boy. He wore a baseball cap, and a burnt cigarette dangled in between his lips.

The second, a girl. Not pretty, but confident. Red hair. A nasty look in her eyes.

The third, a scrawny boy. Michael couldn't see his face; it was hidden beneath a sunhat.

They were laughing.


At him.


Michael sat up and opened his eyes all the way.


"Took you long enough, Tree Man!" hooted the boy with the cigarette.

"Did Mommy kick you out of the house or somethin'?" the redhead said, her hands poised on her hips.

"Who are you?" Michael said loudly. He struggled to stand, but his hand slipped on the tree bark and he fell back down. More laughter.

"We were just watching you sleep like a baby." The redhead made a horrible pouty face. "Poor wittle homeless baby has nowhere to go!"

"He's like one of those bums on the street! Wait 'till he grows a beard!" Once again, the pair tossed back their heads in loud, chest-heaving laughter. Somewhere underneath the noise, Michael heard the short boy's soft voice.

"I think he's one of those cave people," he said, hiding his smile behind his palm.

All of a sudden, the laughter stopped. The boy's companions turned to give him a strange look.

"What are you talking about?" the redhead said. "Cave people live in caves. This guy lives by a tree."

"Yeah, he climbs trees like an Aipom! What with those huge hands of his. He probably has a tail too, but he hides it in his pants," Cigarette Boy said. "Well, Tree Man? Do you climb trees or what?"

Michael didn't answer, still not sure what to make of this. He had fallen asleep in an empty route, and had woken up to find three people standing in front of him. People he didn't even know. They were laughing so carelessly, so mercilessly, just like the so-called bullies at his school did. Only now did it occur to Michael how dorky he must have looked, sitting under a tree like he had nowhere else to go. Like he was a wimp.

Heat rushed to his face. No one laughed at him. Not at Michael Rowan.

Cigarette Boy yawned. "I asked you a question, Tree Man. Do I look like someone you wanna mess with?"

"No," Michael said sharply, voicing the first thing that came to mind. "You look more like a Bidoof to me. What, with your buck teeth and your fat ass. You probably think you're just so cool right now, waving it in my face like a flag."

At first, his statement cast off into silence. No one reacted. Then Michael heard a strange squealing sound, and the short boy erupted in giggles. He doubled over, and his knees sank into the leaves. The redhead rolled her eyes.

Cigarette Boy, however, had flushed a deep red. "Well well well! Looks like we've got us a smartass! Hey Tree Man, didn't your mommy ever teach you about respect?"

"Didn't yours ever teach you not to shove your pimply nose into other people's business?" Michael retorted.

The small boy's laughs increased, but this time they were ignored. Both Cigarette Boy and the redhead were looking at Michael now, their fists clenched. Man, he really knew how to turn the tables.

"I've had enough of your cheek," Cigarette Boy said. "We go to this route every day to practice and we've been doin' it for years. We don't like smartasses, but we take 'em down just as easy. Now look me in the eye, Tree Man, and tell me if you wanna be starting something." He crossed his arms, and waited.

Michael looked at him for a few moments, already beginning to map out a plan of action. Cigarette Boy was leaning slightly to the right, and his arms were slightly lopsided. Uneven weight distribution. One hand curled into a fist, and the other hung limp, as if it belonged to someone else. With the right angle, Michael could probably manage to knock him down. Sure the kid had muscles, but Michael had enough experience to know that size did not always mean strength.

Feeling braver than usual, he rose and cracked his knuckles. "Bring it on."

They seemed surprised by this, but Cigarette Boy's sneer held a hint of satisfaction. He stepped forward and the sunlight caught his arm, underscoring the ripples in his muscles. Michael braced himself against the tree, ready to run, ready to kick, ready for anything...




But to his surprise, the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pokéball.

"Go!" he said, and a flash of red light illuminated the forest. An Azumarill sprang from the capsule, landing on all fours. Michael was bewildered.

Am I supposed to fight that thing?

He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do.

"I'm waiting, Tree Man. Or did all your pokémon run away already?"

A pokémon fight? Michael turned back to his tree. The Stunky was still there, watching curiously through the bars. Its ribcage was showing slightly through its skin. The Azumarill could pin it down in seconds. So the only thing left was... Turtwig.

Michael's heart sank as he went over to his backpack and fingered the pokéball nestled in the pocket. He twisted the knob and watched the Turtwig materialize before him. In the daylight, its blue-green skin seemed even brighter.

On cue, the others began laughing.

"Whoa! What's with its skin?" the redhead exclaimed, her hands pressed to her mouth. "Is it like diseased or something?"

"Doesn't matter," the bulky boy said, crossing his arms. "It's going down! Jaws, use Tackle!"

What am I supposed to do now? Michael thought, resisting the urge to bite his lip.

Several yards away, the Azumarill was preparing for a full-blown attack. It sprinted forward, and a cloud of dirt was raised as it gained speed. Beside him, the Turtwig stood absolutely still.

"Move out of the way!" Michael urged. "Go left! Play chicken! Do something!" The Turtwig turned its head to look at him.

"No! Don't look at me, look at -" But before he could finish his sentence, the Azumarill had collided with the Turtwig, eliciting an audible wham. Their combined momentum left deep skid marks in the dirt. The Azumarill wrestled Turtwig to the ground, where it lay flat on the back of its shell. Its legs moved back and forth, like a dying insect.

Michael gritted his teeth. "Get up!"

The Turtwig began to rock back and forth, but it remained where it was. Finally, Michael bent down and flipped it over onto its feet. The pokémon shook, but held firm. Ovn the other side of the battlefield, the three teenagers were laughing and jeering. Cigarette Boy pumped his fist in the air.

"Finish it off! Use Water Gun!"

Michael slapped his forehead. I lost. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do, and now I lost to them. He took one last look at his Turtwig. The sprout on its head was bent, making the leaves jut out at awkward angles. As he looked at it, he felt something click in his brain.

Grass! Michael drew himself up. Of course! Water can't hurt plants! It can only help them!

He turned back to the Turtwig, his eyes gleaming. "Use a grass attack! Water Gun can't hurt you, you're based on grass!" Michael felt a little silly saying this to a pokémon, but for some odd reason, he could tell that the Turtwig understood.

It threw its head back a little, far enough so a few leaves dislodged from the sprout. At first, Michael didn't know what it was doing. But then, with a single flick, the leaves were sent tearing through the air like razors. Azumarill didn't even have time to move. The leaves seemed to stick to its body, leaving behind traces of red where they touched. The pokémon gave a single cry, then toppled. A tiny cloud of dust billowed around its body.

Michael was dumbstruck.

"What? NO!" Cigarette Boy snarled. His knuckles were white as he raised the pokéball to the Azumarill's body. After its outline faded away, he looked back up at Michael. "You'll be sorry, punk!"

From behind him, the second boy smiled eagerly. "My turn?" Just as he was about to step forward, the redhead shoved him aside.

"No, Henry. It's mine." She withdrew a pokéball of her own. It was covered in stickers. "I'll teach you some manners. Go Timmy!" A lean orange pokémon emerged from her hands, landing in the spot Azumarill had just vacated. Michael immediately recognized it as a Buizel - one of those annoying companions that the school swimming team practiced with. He had always thought that the yellow sacs around their necks looked like shock collars.

The Buizel's tails flicked back and forth as it steadily lowered itself into a crouch. It looked ready to break into a sprint.

"Again! Do the leaf thing again!" Michael said to the Turtwig. For a minute, he thought he saw it smile. Again the Turtwig threw its head back, and sent another series of leaves rushing towards the Buizel. But before they could make contact, the pokémon disappeared in a blur, letting them pass harmlessly to its side. The blur ran in a zigzag, and collided full-force into the Turtwig. The attack raised a cloud of dirt, making Michael cough. When it cleared, he saw that the two pokémon were still wrangling, rolling over and kicking at each other.

"No!" Michael shouted. "Don't be a wimp! Use your surroundings! Knock it off balance!"

"All right! Timmy, use Hydro Pump!" the redhead shouted, her brow furrowed in determination.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment. Hydro... like water! Water again! He looked over to his Turtwig. It was lying on its side, its body bruised and dirty.

"Get up, get up!" Michael bent down and lifted the pokémon to its feet. He looked it in the eye. "I will not lose this! I don't care if it kills you, tear that Buizel's head from its shoulders!"

The Turtwig narrowed its eyes. "Turtur!" it screeched. It threw its head back again, but in the meantime, Buizel was preparing for an attack of its own. Its mouth was wide open, and some sort of liquid was bubbling in its throat. For a minute, Michael wondered if it was about to vomit. But instead, it lifted its face just as a wide jet of water sprayed out of its mouth, like some sort of fire hose.

The water accumulated, then swept the Turtwig away in a torrent. The stream carried it off somewhere behind the bushes. Michael let out a growl. He spun around on his heel, ready to kick the Buizel down himself, but was immediately surprised to find it twitching on the ground with tiny cuts sprinkled along its body.

What the...?

The redhead seemed equally surprised. The corners of her lips were twitching as she slowly approached her pokémon. She maintained silence as she bent down over by the Buizel and returned it back into its pokéball. Then she went over to Michael, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a thin stack of bills. She slapped the money into his hands.

"Ugh. Whatever. Freak." With that, she stormed off towards the open trail. Cigarette Boy was next. He went over to Michael, withdrew a single dollar, and let it fall to the ground.

"Oops." He turned abruptly and went after the redhead. Michael was left standing alone with a bemused expression, a handful of money, and absolutely no idea what had just happened.

For a minute, it was quiet. A Starly screeched from somewhere overhead.

"Wow..."

The voice nearly made him jump. Michael turned, and saw that the short boy was still there. He had come out from behind a bush, and was looking at Michael with reverence. "I've never seen anyone win against them before. How'd you do it?"

Michael scowled. "You're with them. So beat it, before I kick your ass too!"

The boy shook his head sadly. "They're not really my friends. All they do is take advantage of me. They treat me like dirt."

Michael snorted. I wonder why.

"To tell you the truth," the boy continued, "I'm no good at battling. I always lose. But you're, well... you're amazing."

"Hardly." Michael eyed the bills in his hands. "What's the deal with them giving me money? Did they lose a bet or something?"

The boy eyed him curiously. "What do you mean? That's what all trainers do. It's the code of honor. You lose, you pay money. It's respect."

Michael paused for a moment. "So I can get money for beating people?"

The boy nodded.

A smile spread across Michael's face. "Neat. Well, I gotta go. I'm gonna find my Turtwig and get into some more battles. Later." He turned in the direction of the stream. It was already beginning to dry, but the initial path was still discernable. Turtwig must have landed somewhere in the bushes, if it was even strong enough to hold on.

"Wait." The boy's voice cut him off, just as he took his first step. Michael turned back.

"What?"

"You're going to Oreburgh, right?"

"I don't know. Sure?"

"Can I come with you? I just need to get back to my hotel room." The boy's face reddened. "I don't know a lot of people here and I, well, I don't want to hang around Chester and Veronica anymore. So, if it's okay with you, I mean... the town's really big, and I'm afraid I'll get lost."

Michael stopped for a moment, wondering if he was actually serious. This kid was the furthest thing from cool that he had ever seen. He was almost positive that after only a single day at his school, that boy would be running home in tears. He was probably a kiss up in class, bringing apples to the teachers and actually appreciating them. His mother probably bought him those cargo shorts, saying that they looked 'absolutely precious' on him. His hat made him look like a tour guide, or some sort of zookeeper.

Michael was seconds away from saying all of this, but reason stopped him. It would only be for a few hours. Plus, his arm was tired from carrying the Stunky around.

"Fine," he said. "But you're holding this." Michael went over to the cage and handed it to the boy, who smiled gratefully.

"Thanks! I'm Henry, by the way." He hoisted the cage on his arm like a handbag.

"Michael."

Henry peered inside the cage, tapping it with his finger. The Stunky shrank back. "Where did you get this guy anyway?"

"I caught it, obviously."

"Like... with a pokéball?"

"No, with my hands."

Henry's eyes widened. "Coooool."

Michael turned to face the stream. "I have to find my Turtwig."

"Is that it right there?" Henry pointed. Sure enough, behind a nearby bush, Michael's Turtwig lay in a heap, its front legs gripping a loose branch. Its tongue was hanging out from between its lips and its eyes were closed.

Michael scowled as he approached it. "Come on, get up!" he said. "You can't battle if you're lying around. Lazy." The Turtwig did not move. Michael nudged it with his foot, but it gave no response. He exhaled sharply. "What's with you? Are you dead or something?"

Henry squatted beside the Turtwig. "It's probably just tired. You have to give it a few days to rest."

Michael groaned.

"But," Henry lifted a finger. "There is a faster way."

"And that would be?"

"Just take it to a Pokémon Center."

"A what now?"

"A Pokémon Center. It's like a mini hospital for pokémon. They put your pokéball inside this special heating chamber, and the therapy supposedly makes your pokémon recover from anything."

Michael nodded. "Okay. Where do we find one of those?"

"There's one in Oreburgh Town. It's not too far away from here. And -" Henry leaned in closer. "- they have a Gym!"

Judging by his tone, Michael guessed he was supposed to be excited by this. But all he could manage was a blank look. "What's that?"

Henry's mouth gaped, as if it were the dumbest question in the world. He fought for words for a moment, then finally managed to say, "You're not a trainer, are you?"

Michael froze. "No," he said firmly. "And if you have a problem with that, you can leave."

"So... you're pretending to be a trainer when you're actually not?" Henry's expression was neutral. Michael braced himself.

"What if I am?" he snapped. "Do you want to tell me what's right and what's wrong?"

"No... it's just really... cool. How you don't care or anything." Henry fumbled for words. "I won't tell anyone," he added quickly.

"Whatever."

Henry's face fell. "Well, this stinks. Even non-trainers are better battlers than I am."

"No one sucks that bad, kid."

"Well, I do. I really do. I mean, pokémon won't listen to me, and they're all really slow for some reason..."

"Good luck with that," Michael said. "So how far is Oreburgh?"

"About three miles."

"Then you can lead me there. After that, I'll leave you alone, and you can go back to your hotel room."

"Okay."

"Cool. Let's go." Michael gathered his things and started forward.

For the first time in his life, he heard a beat of footsteps behind him.



//////



He and Henry walked through the remainder of Route 203, neither of them saying much along the way. Through it all, Michael was absorbed in visions of money.

If I could beat everyone in town... I could become the most powerful battler in the world! I'd be rich!

Henry, on the other hand, seemed more interested in the route itself. His eyes never left the tree canopies, and his mouth formed an 'O' whenever he saw a brightly-colored pokémon flick between the branches.

"I wonder how many kinds of pokémon there are..." he said at some point, eyes sparkling.

Michael didn't reply, however. He was too busy mentally constructing the pool in his future home.

When they finally decided to stop and rest, the sun was high overhead and leaves were drooping from the heat. They chose a shady spot underneath an oak tree, where they sat watching the clouds. Michael reached into his backpack and zipped open his snack compartment. He withdrew a chocolate bar and began chewing with closed eyes, savoring the flavor.

"Do you have anything else to eat?"

Michael opened his eyes. Henry was eyeing the bar enviously.

"Uh, do you want some?" He broke off a piece and offered it to him.

Henry shrugged. "I can't. Mom says chocolate's bad for your stomach if you eat it too much."

Michael frowned. "Is your mother here now?"

"No."

"Then take it. Don't be a wimp, she's not gonna come out from behind a tree and spank you." He held up the piece again. Henry laughed a bit, but still didn't take it. "Whatever," Michael popped it into his own mouth.

He threw the remaining wrapper into a separate pocket. Then he took out his notebook and opened it up to a clean page.

Dear Cory and/or Brendan,
Sorry I didn't give you guys any sign that I was running away. It was kind of a last-minute decision. I just want you to know that I'm fine, and I'm about to go to Oreburgh City.


Michael frowned, then scribbled over his lines. What if his mother or someone else got to the letter first? He started again.

To whom it may concern,
DO NOT READ THIS LETTER! FOR MY FRIENDS' EYES ONLY!


Michael crossed it out again, then slumped back against the tree. It would be impossible to write a letter without the possibility of interception. He stopped to think for a minute, when he realized that Henry was peering over his shoulder.

"What'cha writing?" he asked.

Michael shook his head. "Nothing." He tore off the page and threw it into his backpack. He could always start again when Henry wasn't looking.

"Okay." Henry reached into his own tote bag and pulled out a small canister. "Pokémon food," he said to Michael. "Here, I'll give some to your Stunky. It looks awfully hungry." Henry sprinkled some of the contents into the cage, and the Stunky squealed gratefully.

Henry giggled. "You should really let this Stunky out of its cage. It looks like it could be a lot of fun to play with."

"It'll run away," Michael said.

For a minute, he absently watched the Stunky eat. It was eyeing Henry gratefully, and prancing around in circles. Michael's pencil dropped back down onto the paper and began to sketch the spiky outline of its fur. As the pokémon turned, Michael observed the curvature of its cheeks and the shape of its eyes. He did some shading, and added a grassy background. He was no artist, but the final result left him satisfied. He gazed down at it for a few moments, and ended up adding a sun and some clouds.

"Can I ask you something?" Henry said after a while. Michael looked up, and saw that Henry was watching him draw.

"What?"

"Why is your Turtwig differently colored than normal?" Henry pulled on a blade of grass. "Sorry if it's a personal question or something, but I was just curious."

Michael didn't answer. His gaze returned to the paper, and he doodled a quick tree in the landscape.

"It's not the first time I've seen it," Henry said softly.

At this, Michael looked up. "You've seen it before?"

Henry nodded. "My friend had a Zubat that was green. She took it to a bunch of specialists to have it checked out, but they didn't know what was wrong with it. They ran all these tests and drew all kinds of graphs. They wouldn't give it back to her, though, even after she asked. And there were no more like it, so she couldn't get another one."

"That's weird..." Michael said. "Did it ever change color or anything?'

Henry shook his head. "Nope. I was wondering if you knew about it, since you have one of those weird ones."

Michael slapped the page with his palm. "It's stupid how no one knows about any of this. When I asked that Emerson dude about my Turtwig, he just kicked us out. And he's supposed to be the authority on pokémon."

"Wow, that was really mean of him to do that."

"He's probably just too lazy to do his homework. I bet that the answer is sitting right there in one of his books, but he can't be bothered to look because he's too busy trying to quit smoking." Michael spat, and shoved his notebook back into his backpack. "Anyway, I'm not just gonna sit here all day. You ready to go?"

"All right." Henry stood, and began to gather his things.

Michael urged his heavy limbs to move back onto the path. Up ahead, he could see the beginnings of a strange rock formation. Branches obscured his view, but he was fairly certain that there was a sign hanging over it.

"There's Oreburgh Gate," Henry explained. "It's the only public entrance to the city."

Beyond that, Michael could see the hazy outline of the Coronet mountain range. Its jagged pattern stretched across the horizon, from the region's southern shores to its snowy northern valleys. The sun rested atop a blunt peak, illuminating the land on the other side. He exhaled slowly. For the first time, the world seemed like such a big place.

"Well, we're not gonna get there by just looking at it," Michael said after a while. "Let's go." Michael started forward. From behind, he heard the beat of Henry's footsteps as he rushed to keep up.

The Oreburgh Gate didn't have any doors. Its floor wasn't paved, and flickering ceiling lamps served as the lighting. The air inside was hot and thin. There were a few people here as well, cooing to wailing children and using pay phones. The lamps casted unnatural shadows on their faces, making them look demented.

"My gosh, it's like a cave in here," Michael shuddered.

Henry let out a dry cough. "Yeah. I hope the city isn't this bad."

It wasn't. The first thing Michael noticed when they stepped out into the light was how brown everything was. The roads, the buildings, and even people's clothes had that same dusty shade. Unlike Jubilife, there were no flashing lights or advertisements to be seen. The closest thing to technology was the complex system of pulleys that circulated the town, transporting rocks of various sizes. Michael's eyes traced the maze and quickly found its starting point - a large opening in the ground on the far side of the city. Like Jubilife, it was buzzing with activity. But this town was like a tiny ant colony - small, but hardworking. Everyone here seemed like family, instead of just a bunch of strangers gathered in one spot.

"I always liked this place," Henry finally said, inhaling.

"So where's the Pokémon Center?"

"It's a bit further in. I'll show you."

Henry led him in a winding path, crossing intersections and sharply rounding corners. During a span of five minutes, Michael went through at least seven different visualizations of what the building might look like. Would there be a line? Would it cost him money? Would it be like one of those fancy clubs that never let anybody inside?

Just when Michael thought his head would explode, Henry stopped and pointed. "Look!"

In front of them was an ordinary-looking building, with shining windows and a bright red roof. A pokéball was painted on its door, but apart from that, it was nothing special.

On the inside, Pokémon Center resembled a laundromat. The walls and floor were white, and were lined with strange machines. Michael watched as a woman placed three pokéballs onto a metal tray and closed the lid. Her machine glowed red for about a minute, then she withdrew the pokéballs and put them back into her purse.

"Here, I'll show you how to use it." Henry pulled him over to an unoccupied machine and repeated the process. It hummed, displaying a constant temperature of 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Minutes later, Turtwig's pokéball came back out. It felt warm in Michael's hands.

"That's it?"

Henry smiled. "Yup. Turtwig's as good as new."

Michael found it hard to believe that, but decided to take Henry's word for it. "Well, okay. Thanks, I guess." There was a pause. Henry began to rock back and forth, eyes drifting towards the ceiling.

"So... are there any good places to battle, or is everything just lumped together here?" Michael asked.

Henry clicked his tongue. "Well, there's a park at the center of town. I can show you that too. A lot of trainers come there to practice, but..."

"But what?"

"The people there are really mean." Henry looked down at his shoes. "They... they like to make fun of people, let's just say."

Michael let out a groan. What was this kid, six? "I think I'll be fine."

Henry shook his head. "No it's not a good idea! Trust me. They'll pick on you, just like Chester and Veronica did."

Michael laughed. "You actually think I was afraid of your little dweeb friends? Let me clue you in on something. I was the coolest guy in my school. No one picked on me, because they all respected me. So I'm the last person you should be worrying about when it comes to those sissies."

"But those kids are all bad!" Henry persisted. "They smoke and stuff!"

"Just because someone smokes doesn't mean they're bad. My brother... he smoked, and he was the best person I ever knew." He looked at Henry again. "So are you gonna take me there, or am I gonna have to find my own way?"

"Well... okay. But we can't stay long, okay?" Henry pleaded. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Yeah sure whatever. Let's go."

They left the Pokémon Center. Henry led him through several more streets, until they came across a large square clearing. The entire city ran around it, branching off into a bunch of little dirt paths that led to the park. Some kids were here already, sitting on benches and under trees. And although he searched, Michael saw only one boy who was smoking.

"Well, here we are!" Henry said. "Who do you want to battle first?"

Michael took a look around. He saw one girl sitting on a swing set stroking a Piplup, and a boy by the fence playing with his Machop. Neither of them looked like they could take a hit, much less pay a good amount. He walked past them. The other kids either didn't have pokémon with them, or turned away when he approached.

Michael continued through the park, and stopped when he reached a tall white fence. A group of five boys was leaning against it, talking slowly and casually.

"They look like a good group," Michael said. "What if I beat them five to one? How cool would that be?"

Henry, however, was shaking. "Oh no..." He reached up to bite his nail.

"What?"

"You see those boys over there?" He pointed to the group. Someone had told a joke, and now they were all laughing heartily. Michael instantly thought of his friends, and felt a pang of guilt.

"They're the ones who make fun of me," Henry said, keeping his voice low.

"And what am I supposed to do about it? You have to stick up for yourself."

"Yeah, but -"

"Yo, it's Henry!"

Michael looked up. One of the boys had noticed them, and was slowly coming their way. The gang trailed behind in a semicircle of grins. Henry seemed to shrink in their presence.

"So who's your friend?" said the first boy. He looked over to Michael, giving him a quick once-over. Michael did the same. He noticed that the kid was wearing a Team Galactic shirt.

"You got a name?"

"Michael. Michael Rowan," he said simply, hands in his pockets. The boy nodded.

"What you doing hanging around a wimp like him for?" He jerked his thumb in Henry's direction.

"He's showing me around town." Michael nodded towards his shirt. "Been watching the Space Race lately?"

The boy grinned. "Yeah. Team Galactic is boss, man."

"Did you see those shots of Deoxys?"

"Yeah yeah, nothing special. If you ask me, the Rockets are just desperate for an excuse to beat us."

"Agreed," Michael said. "It's pathetic, really."

"Yeah and for all we know, they could've faked it. Why, we could take a picture of Henry's face and say it's an alien species."

Michael began to laugh.

"What do you want from us, Mack?" Henry finally said.

The boy turned back to Henry, his smile fading. "Not feeling too brave without those friends of yours covering your ass, are you? Is that why you brought Michael along? Think you can scare us away?" The rest of the gang began to chuckle.

"It's... it's not like that..." Henry looked down again, and began drawing circles in the dirt.

"You need to learn respect, little punk. Don't think I'll forget what you tried to do to us."

When Henry lifted his face again, his cheeks were red. "Let's leave, Michael."

"Mike can do whatever he wants, right? He's a cool head."

Henry tapped Michael on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go!"

"Hey, why don't you leave the kid alone and let him do what he wants?" The boy turned again to Michael. "You can hang out here if you want, Michael. You can help us maintain order in the park. Too many wimps like him, if you ask me. How about it?" The boy extended a hand. His arm was covered in dirt, leaves, and bruises.

But before Michael could reply, he felt something jerk his arm forward. All at once, the gang groaned. It took a few seconds to realize what was happening. Henry had grabbed him by the arm and was stomping down the path, like a mother would do to her child. Michael felt his face redden as he struggled to pry his fingers off.

"Shit! Henry, let go! What the hell are you doing?"

"Those kids are mean, and I don't want to be around them."

"So?" Michael looked back over his shoulder. The gang was shouting something over to them, but he couldn't hear what it was. They were already nearing the exit. "Man, why do you have to be such a -"

"Wimp? Dweeb? Nerd?" Henry sighed and dropped his hand. "Everyone's so mean to me here!" His voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears. Pretty soon, they were spilling down his cheeks.

Michael gritted his teeth. "Stop crying. It's embarrassing."

"I don't care!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "I'm sick of everyone treating me like this! It's not fair! Everyone does it! It's everywhere I go, and I don't know why!" He was seconds away from stomping his foot, but before he could, Michael grabbed his shoulders.

"Listen to me, people are only gonna laugh harder when they see you cry! So shut up!" Michael shook him a little, and Henry quieted down.

"I'm sorry!" He sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Those kids just annoy me so much! They're the reason I hate coming here."

"Fine. Is there another place I can go to battle without having you scream in my face?"

"T-the Gym, but..."

"Now what?"

"I'm not good for that either!"

"Hang on, hang on. What is a Gym, exactly? Tell me."

Henry sniffed again. "Not... not a lot of trainers want to do it. It's for the topest of the top. They say it's hard like crazy."

"Do they give money?"

"Yeah..."

"Then let's check it out."

"Wait, I don't want to go there either," Henry said.

"Ugh. Why not?"

"Because I always lose!" A fresh stream of tears fell from his eyes. "I'm not good at anything!"

Michael sighed. "Give it another shot, okay? We'll go together."

"No! I won't!"

"You're acting like a little kid."

"But I know I'll lose!"

"Then you'll really lose! But if you're certain that you're gonna win, then you'll win."

"But it doesn't work like that for me! You don't know what it's like to have every single person you talk to laugh at you! You don't know what it's like!"

"Oh God, I am so sick of your sob stories! You're so damn soft!" Michael gave him a sharp punch in the shoulder. Henry staggered back, wincing with pain. "There's always gonna be some kid out there who has it worse than you do. But that kid isn't crying about it. He's fighting the world and making something out of himself. I'm giving you a choice. Today. Are you gonna be a closet wimp, or are you gonna do your own thinking?"

Henry pondered this for a moment, wiping his nose of his sleeve. "Okay... Fine."

"Good."

Henry looked up at Michael with watery eyes, and smiled. "Thanks for that."

"For what?"

"For calming me down. You're a good friend."

This caught Michael off guard. He stepped back a little, and looked at Henry curiously. "Okay. Uh... thanks."

They left the park in silence. Michael's mind was churning. First his teacher had put him down. Then his mother had left him, dropping off the face of the Earth. Then a bookstore clerk had called him a monster. Then a pair of kids had laughed at him for sleeping under a tree.

Then out of the blue came Henry, the kid who wore a sunhat, almost a foot shorter than him, the pinnacle of middle-school nerdiness, and the first kid who had ever called Michael Rowan a good friend.

Gardenia101 August 27th, 2010 1:08 PM

Quote:

A pokémon fight? Michael turned back to his tree. The Stunky was still there, watching curiously through the bars. Its ribcage was showing slightly through its skin. The Azumarill could pin it down in seconds. So the only thing left was... Turwtig.

You spelled Turtwig wrong- you might want to fix it.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ August 28th, 2010 6:15 AM

Probably the only issue I had with the chapter was that Michael seemed to win his battles a bit too easily... especially a Turtwig with very little battle experience taking down a fully evolved Azumarill with a nickname that really doesn't suit it (I would have expected Jaws to be the name of a Totodile or something lol) However, I do realize that you're trying to show that exploiting type weaknesses is a new and mostly unknown tactic, so I guess I can let it slide.

It's quite interesting how Michael and new tag-along Henry have such differing personalities (kinda like a certain math and car obsessed girl and her younger sister that we know and love xD) and I think it'll be fun seeing Michael's brash attitude clash with Henry's more timid one.

Ah, the lure of cash. The inspiration for trainers and fraud artists alike. :) Not that Michael's gonna be the next Bernie Madoff or anything, but I do find it amusing how his whole motivation at this point is the cold hard cash xD

If the last chapter showed Michael's first step toward changing his cold attitude, then this one shows the second step by taking Henry under his wing. As well as his first taste of using type to his advantage. I can already see hints of a researcher in him, and I'm looking forward to seeing how he further develops, as the first Gym looms on the horizon....

Gardenia101 September 2nd, 2010 8:08 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6110292)
Probably the only issue I had with the chapter was that Michael seemed to win his battles a bit too easily... especially a Turtwig with very little battle experience taking down a fully evolved Azumarill with a nickname that really doesn't suit it (I would have expected Jaws to be the name of a Totodile or something lol) However, I do realize that you're trying to show that exploiting type weaknesses is a new and mostly unknown tactic, so I guess I can let it slide.

It's quite interesting how Michael and new tag-along Henry have such differing personalities (kinda like a certain math and car obsessed girl and her younger sister that we know and love xD) and I think it'll be fun seeing Michael's brash attitude clash with Henry's more timid one.

Ah, the lure of cash. The inspiration for trainers and fraud artists alike. :) Not that Michael's gonna be the next Bernie Madoff or anything, but I do find it amusing how his whole motivation at this point is the cold hard cash xD

If the last chapter showed Michael's first step toward changing his cold attitude, then this one shows the second step by taking Henry under his wing. As well as his first taste of using type to his advantage. I can already see hints of a researcher in him, and I'm looking forward to seeing how he further develops, as the first Gym looms on the horizon....

Well, I'm pretty sure there's something special aout that Turtwig.... Other than being shiny.
but I could be wrong

Haruka of Hoenn September 6th, 2010 5:22 AM

Sorry, I can't find a lot of time to post anymore. Thank you both for the reviews, LeSabre and Gardenia! I'd give you both more detailed replies, but I'm a bit short on time. I appreciate you both for stopping by, and I hope you'll like seven!


0.7

"... so there are eight Gyms all over Sinnoh, and one leader for each Gym. Those trainers are really good, and you get a badge for each one you beat," Henry was saying, as they walked down Helix Avenue. It was a pretty busy road, full of pedestrians and hikers carrying shovels, but according to Henry, it was the fastest route to the Gym. During the past five minutes, he had covered the basics of the Gym's operation, all the trainers that would be there, and told Michael more about the worldwide competition that they called the Pokémon League. Apparently each country had its own, though each circuit was united under one logo.

"And who's the leader for this town?" Michael asked.

"Byron. I've battled him before, and he's really good. That's kinda how I got stuck with Chester and Veronica. They both won the Oreburgh Gym, and I'm the only one who lost."

"Okay, and let's say I beat all the Gyms. Then what happens?"

"Well, you can go to the Elite Four. They're the four most powerful trainers in the region. And after you've beaten them, well, if you get lucky enough, you get a shot at the most powerful one. The champion."

"And after that?"

Henry's growing smile faded for a moment. "I don't know. I don't think anyone's won before. They say you get a plaque, and your name goes down in a place called the Hall of Fame. Oh, and there's a money prize too."

Instantly, Michael leaned in. "How much?"

"Fifty thousand dollars."

Michael felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. "Fifty thousand dollars... is there an age limit?"

"I don't think so."

Michael beamed, and looked up towards the sky. It was a clear summer blue.

Fifty thousand... imagine if I won! I'd be the most powerful person in Sinnoh! I'll never have to count my money again.

Indeed, it would be rather fitting if he left his home as a poor, homeless drifter, and eventually found riches on his travels. It would be the perfect success story, something that would inspire people to write books and even movies. Michael turned back to Henry, and saw that he had been looking up as well.

"I'm gonna take the Gym challenge," Michael said.

Henry's face fell. "Wow. I bet you have what it takes, though. You look like it. But me, I stink. I want to sign up for a rematch, but I don't think I'll make it."

Michael grumbled. "My God, you're so fricking depressed. You're never gonna get anywhere, you know that?"

"But it's true! He knocked my team out flat."

"So try again and kick his ass this time."

"I guess..." Henry said, without enthusiasm. They continued walking, and now, Michael could see a large brick building up ahead. It was bordered by shrubs, which hid a thinning lawn. They neared it, and Michael could see a sign that jutted out of the soil: 'Oreburgh City Gym. Leader - Byron.'

"That's it?" he said. "That's the Gym?"

Henry looked up. "Yeah."

"Not too big on advertising, are they?"

"They don't have to be. Just being the first Gym of the League makes it popular."

The path that led up to the building wasn't paved. Now, Michael could see the sign in detail. Its surface was dented slightly, and there was a smaller inscription underneath the text: "I rock this town!" He chuckled to himself.

"So how do we do this; do I just walk in and say I want a battle?"

"Pretty much," Henry nodded.

Michael stepped forward and knocked on the door. There was no answer.

"Hello?" he called. His hand fell down to the doorknob, and he gave it a turn. It wasn't locked. He opened the door slowly and stepped in.

Inside, the ceiling was high and the floor was covered with tumble mats. Small, square windows lined the walls, giving light to the room. It was spacious, clearly designed for a large event, but today the benches that lined the walls were empty. The only other people there were a young man and woman, both standing in the center. The man was reading something on a clipboard, dressed plainly in a polo shirt and pants. The woman stood behind him, humming, with her arms draped over his shoulders. They were so caught up in their task that they didn't notice when the door slammed, and the two new arrivals stepped into the room.

"...so they want me to give ten percent of my profits towards the new museum, and in return they'll give me free advertising," said the man, scratching his chin. "What do you think?"

The woman laughed loudly. "Oh, they've been asking that for months now! Can't you just say no already and stop playing nice?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. A puzzled look had crossed Henry's face as well. He was about to back away when the man suddenly looked up.

"Uh, hello. Can I help you?"

"We're, uh-"

The man snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, right, you're trainers! Sorry for not recognizing you, I'm really busy today. Are you here to schedule a battle?"

"Yeah," Michael said.

The man nodded. "Okay. I'll put you on the waiting list." He flipped back a few pages and drew a pen from his pocket.

"Wait a minute, there's a waiting list?"

He smiled. "Well, this is a popular Gym. A lot of people are waiting to get their first badge."

"Especially since the Gym leader is so handsome!" The woman smiled, tilting his face toward hers.

"So, both of you want a battle?"

Michael stole a sideways glance. Henry shrugged, biting his lip. "Yeah," Michael said loudly. "The little kid too."

"All right. Names please?"

"Henry McPherson... I battled you on Monday, so you might remember me..." Henry's gaze fell to the floor.

"Here for a rematch? That's good for you, boy. The sign of a remarkable trainer is his determination." Byron scribbled down a few notes, then turned to Michael.

"And you?"

"Michael Rowan."

"Okay. I don't think I've seen you before. Is it your first time here?"

"Yep."

"Okay, then I'll have to register you in the records. First off, are you a boy or a girl?" Michael's lips parted, and Byron chuckled. "Just kidding. All right, I'll need your age and date of birth."

"I'm thirteen. July 19, 1950."

Byron scribbled some more. "Okay, now I need to -"

But before he could finish, he was interrupted by a loud slam. A man's bald head poked through one of the side doors.

"Uh, Byron? Phone call. It's urgent. From the landscaper."

Byron sighed and pocketed the pen. "Now?" The man nodded, and Byron turned back to Michael. "The way it is, your battle will probably be next Tuesday. We open at nine in the morning, so be there early. Henry, yours will be on Wednesday."

"Okay. Thanks."

Byron waved casually, then turned to leave. The two disappeared behind the door, talking animatedly, leaving only the woman. She looked over to the boys and let out a playful tsk.

"He's always so busy, that Byron. Here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "He always gives these things out to new trainers. Looks like he forgot this time, so you can have this one."

"Thanks." Michael took a look at its cover. 'THE POKÉMON LEAGUE: INFORMATION FOR THE FUTURE MASTER'. He didn't feel like reading what was inside at the moment, so he shoved it into his pocket.

Once he was outside, he collapsed into a nearby bench, grateful for the sun's heat on his face. Henry sat down as well, placing the cage next to him, and rested his elbows on his knees. The Stunky squeaked.

"Well, we have our battles." Michael said after a short silence. "That Byron guy doesn't look so tough, though."

"He's really good," Henry said, still staring at the ground. "He knocked my entire team out in less than a minute."

Michael looked at the sign again. "Well, he should really come up with a new slogan. 'I rock this town' is really cheesy." He continued to stare at it for a while, through narrowed eyes.

"You need to train them big time if you want to win, though," Henry pressed on. "Seriously, Byron's the master on rock type pokémon!"

"Hang on. Did you say rock?" Michael's eyes were fully open now.

Henry nodded.

"You mean, this Gym only uses one type of pokémon?"

"Yeah."

Michael smiled. His gaze trailed off back to the sign. The letters, which had been carved deeply into the wood, now seemed to stand out against the background. "You know, we could really use this to our advantage."

"How?"

"I've been thinking about this for a while, ever since I beat your friends. Have you ever noticed whether an attack has different effects on different pokémon?"

Henry rubbed his forehead. "Well, I guess. I mean, when Chester and Veronica used Water Gun and Hydro Pump on your Turtwig, it barely did anything. But when they use it on other people's pokémon, it practically knocks them out the first time. One day, they were battling a kid with a Hondour. They won in, like, thirty seconds. I counted."

"Do you know why that happened?"

Henry shook his head. "I guess some pokémon are weaker than others?"

"Maybe... but I think there's something else at play. Like... people use water to douse fire. But water, just normal water, doesn't ever hurt plants. Plants absorb it to make themselves healthier. And Turtwig is a grass pokémon, so..."

"So water attacks can't hurt it?" Henry's face lit up. "That's why you won!"

"I think so."

"But this gym is rock type. If a rock falls on a plant, won't it die?"

"Well... it's something I learned in science class. It's called biological weathering. Some species of plants can break down entire boulders. Kind of like decomposition, when flies and stuff pick at a dead corpse."

Henry's nose crinkled in disgust. "Are you sure that'll work?"

"Well, if it'll get me the win, it's worth a try."

"But won't it be... you know... cheating?"

Michael groaned. "Look, I honestly don't think that guy's gonna care if we do a little extra prep before the battle. It's not like it's a test. He never said that we couldn't try to help ourselves. And that's the most important part. Whatever people don't say you can't do, you can do."

"I've never really thought about it that way... Hey, you know what you should do? You should make a chart with all the types on it. And for every one you can write down what it's weak against and what it's strong against. That'll make you win the Gym for sure." Henry beamed. "We could bring it in on battle day, even. It would be so nifty!"

Michael cringed, unable to stop himself. "Okay, just please don't say 'nifty' again. That's what all the dweebs say. They think it's cool, but really, it's not."

"... I guess." Henry flushed a little at Michael's correction, and looked down at his thumbs. "You know, we could train together too. Since our battles are close and stuff. Just to help each other out."

"Uh, problem? I have nowhere to stay."

"You can share the hotel room with me. It has two beds. I have it 'till the end of the week too."

"All right. But first I want to find more about this Gym. Let's go to the Pokémon Center. There should be a bunch of trainers there." Michael rose from the chair, and Henry followed. They made their way back to the familiar building, and when Michael entered, he took a good look around.

There weren't that many kids here, though his gaze eventually found a young boy sitting in the corner. He was fiddling around with a metal cube, a mound of curly hair shielding his face from view. Michael guessed he was a trainer - the belt strapped to his waist held three pokéballs. The boy didn't notice their approach. Up close, Michael saw that the cube had a small screen. It flickered to life when the boy pressed the buttons, then went blank again a few seconds later. Each time it did, the boy let out a small groan.

"Hey," Michael said. "Do you have a minute?"

The boy looked up. His face was flushed, and his glasses were askew. His hat bore the pokéball insignia, the same that was on the back of the machine. "Huh? Who're you?"

"Just a trainer."

"We want to know more about the Oreburgh Gym," Henry piped up.

The boy eyed them briefly, then shook his head. "Uh, sorry, I can't help you. I'm busy." He looked back down at his machine and rapped it against the wall. "You stupid piece of... work already!" The screen flashed again. It now covered with tiny white stripes.

"What is that thing?" Michael said.

"It's a Pokémon Data Exploiter," the boy huffed. "It's the newest model, but it's just as bad as the rest... Come on, you stupid piece of shit! Work!" He knocked it against the wall one more time, so loudly that several heads turned. The boy ignored the murmurs, and lowered the device into his lap. There was a dent on the corner, but the screen had died.

"It's no use." His shoulders sagged. "I'm done for."

"Why?"

The boy looked up at Michael. "The professor gave it to me. I'm one of is interns-in-training. It's a summer camp." He sighed. "The professor wants us to gather info on sixty species of pokémon by the end of the month and record them here. I already got ten, but then this stupid gizmo died on me!" He gave it another half-hearted tap. "It'll take forever to get it fixed. By then, all the other guys will beat me."

"Well that's a stupid competition. Is there a prize?"

"Yeah. You get this super cool new pokéball that the professor designed himself. It's supposed to be foolproof, but I don't believe him."

Michael chuckled. "I wouldn't rely on that idiot too much. He doesn't know shit about what he's doing. You know, my friends and I, we call him -"

"Professor Chrome Dome, yeah," the boy said absently. "Everyone calls him that behind his back, even some of his real assistants. It's funny, but it's sad at the same time. You know, 'cause he can't help it or anything. He's lazy and stuff, but he's pretty nice once you get to know him."

"Whatever. So are you gonna help us or not?"

"With what?"

"The Gym," Michael said. "Have you been there? Do you know anyone who's battled Byron before?"

The kid shrugged. "I'm not really into the League, since my camp's taking too much of my time. But I've been there before, you know, just to see what types of pokémon he has, and... " He rubbed his chin, as if deciding whether to continue. "Well, okay, here's the thing with Byron. He says he prefers to use rock pokémon, but really, he's well-rounded with the moves. And one of his pokémon isn't even rock type."

"Then what is it?" Michael said, now more impatient than ever. "Tell us!"

"I would tell you if I could, but all my data's in here!" the boy held up the contraption. "And I can't get it started!"

"Perfect." Michael slapped his forehead. "Can't you just get it fixed or something?"

"Not when Sandgem Town's over a hundred miles away! Going back now would be like reserving a spot in last place!"

"Then get it fixed here," Michael said. "There should be a repair shop or something."

The boy shook his head. "No, it won't do any good. The professor designed it himself, and it's completely unique so only he knows how it works."

"Then he's a dipstick!" Michael exploded. "Didn't he give you something, anything, in case it malfunctioned?"

The boy opened his mouth for an angry reply, but then, his face lit up. "You know... maybe he did. I remember him giving us all this little pouch before we left. It had a bunch of tools to fix it..."

"Yes, and where did you put the pouch?" Michael said.

The boy held up a finger. "Hang on, I might have it here..." he slid his backpack off his shoulder and placed it in his lap, unzipped it and began to search through it.

Michael waited with his arms crossed, and Henry clicked his tongue. When the boy finally took out a large pouch from the bag, Michael sighed with relief.

"I almost forgot I had this," the kid said. "Thanks!"

"All right, all right. So can you do it yourself?"

The boy shook his head. "I don't know... I forgot most of what he showed me. But I can try. We'll need a table, though." He looked around, and pointed to an empty wooden table in the corner, well away from the machines. The three went over and sat down, and the boy spilled out the tools onto the surface. There was a small screwdriver, a few colored wires, an extra battery, and a few extra screws. He watched as the boy opened the device's back, revealing a jumble of wires and lights.

"My gosh," Henry said. "That thing looks like it's about to eat me alive! Did you say it was the newest model?"

"Yeah."

"Then what did the first one look like?"

The boy paused and looked at Henry. "Uh... you don't want to know. You couldn't even carry it in your pocket because it was so big. You had to use a special case, and it was pretty heavy. So if you were a researcher and you had to lug it around all day, you'd be having backaches all the time. The professor told us all about them. The Data Exploiters were originally storage systems, just for regular computers, but then the scientists got sick of using paper to record their pokémon data, and they converted the systems to store that instead. They've made a lot of improvements since the first Data Exploiters, like they made it portable and stuff, but there's still something missing. They can't make a device that's both small and fast and doesn't die every other time you use it." The boy held up a clump of wires to the light, but dropped them instantly. "Owww! My God, that's hot!" He rubbed his fingers and looked down at the open device. "Ugh, man, this is so impossible! I don't even know what's making it act up like this!"

"Do you know how wires work?" Henry said.

"Well... no. Something about positive to the positive? Or positive to the negative?"

"No," Henry said. "Don't you just match up the colors or something? Liked red to red and blue to blue?"

"Ugh." Michael rose. "Don't you two pay attention in class? Lemme see it."

The boy stepped aside as Michael bent down beside the table. He pressed his palm to the inside wall, and yanked it back instantly before the heat could burn him. "I think it's overheated. That might be the problem. When machines get too how they can crash because their systems fail. Plus, it looks like your battery's really old. You'll have to change it."

"Do you know how to do that?"

"Yeah. Just give me the spare." Michael unhooked the battery, ignoring the patches of pain in his fingers. The boy gave him the new one, and Michael slid it into the holder. "Now give me two new red wires and a new blue wire." The boy handed him the wires, and Michael clipped them into place.

"I think that's it. But yeah, like I said before, it probably just got too hot and crashed."

"But why does it heat up like that? I swear, sometimes I can't even hold it because it burns my hands."

"You can't fix it," Michael said. "Machines generate heat, and the only way to cool them down is to kill the power for a while. Just don't overwork this thing. It's too crappy to take a hit." He fastened the lid, tightening it in with the screwdriver. "Also, just keep it in a cold place. Like the refrigerator or something."

Henry giggled.

"What? I'm serious. You have to keep machines cool. Blow it with a fan or something. Here." He handed the device to the boy. "See if it works now."

The kid flipped a switch, and the screen blinked to life. "So far so good..." Michael watched as a title screen popped up - Pokémon Data Exploiter - v9.5. Designed by Sandgem Labs. Then it vanished, replaced by a large scrolling list where a bunch of pokémon names were registered.

"We've got it!" the boy cried. "I have the list up! Thanks so much!"

"Okay, now can you tell us what pokémon Byron has?"

"Yeah, definitely! Hang on." The boy scrolled down the list. Henry hopped up from his seat and leaned over to watch.

"Wow, this is so cool."

The screen read:


POKéMON DATA EXPLOITER v9.5
DATA FILE // POKéMON ENTRIES
NUMERICAL

No. 001 TURTWIG [GRASS]
No. 002 GROTLE [GRASS]
No. 003 - - - - - - - - -
No. 004 CHIMCHAR [FIRE]
No. 005 - - - - - - - - -
No. 006 - - - - - - - - -
No. 007 PIPLUP [WATER]
No. 008 - - - - - - - - -
No. 009 - - - - - - - - -
No. 010 STARLY [FLYING]
No. 011 - - - - - - - - -
No. 012 - - - - - - - - -
No. 013 BIDOOF [???]
»


"What are all the spaces for?" Henry said.

"They're the ones I haven't gotten yet."

Michael pointed to Bidoof's entry. "Why are there question marks there?"

"Because I don't know what type it is. I've battled a trainer who had one, and the pokémon just bit and clawed at mine. They didn't shoot water out of their mouths or anything. Its attacks were just normal."

Michael shrugged. "So put 'Normal'. The professor lets you write your own entries, right?"

"Yeah." The boy continued scrolling.

"Man, how many do you have here?"

"I added in sixty slots, but I only have about ten... oh, here, I have the entries from Byron's gym!" He showed them the screen. "Here's his first pokémon."


No. 031 GEODUDE [ROCK]
------------------------------
This guy looks exactly like a rock, but it's strong and fast. In battle, it can use Rollout and knock down opponents using its arms, which it swings around. It lives by the mountains and sometimes on hiking trails. it likes to hide in plain sight, among other rocks, which can make it really hard to find.


"Interesting," Michael said. "Next?"

The boy showed him the next screen.

No. 034 ONIX [ROCK]
------------------------------
A giant worm-thing made of rocks. It likes to burrow deep in the ground where it's nice and cool. It has a good sense of direction, so it never gets lost. In battle, it likes to whip enemies with its tail, which it uses like a club. It can screech really loudly too, which distracts opponents and throws them off balance.


"Okay, next?"

"All right, here ya go..." The final entry flashed before Michael's eyes.

No. 060 BRONZOR [Steel?]
------------------------------
It uses a lot of non-physical attacks that can confuse the opponent. Its habitat and diet is unknown, though it can be a good


The boy sighed and turned off the device. "That's all I could get. I didn't finish it because I didn't really know a whole lot about it. Byron wouldn't let me stay either to observe it; he said that there were other people waiting to battle him."

Michael's shoulders sagged. "Well that sucks. Didn't you get anything else out of it?"

"No. But it was amazing in battle, though. It can knock out a pokémon without even touching it."

"That's strange... were any moves you used effective against it?"

"I used my Buneary. She's really fast, and I just told her to use Jump Kick, and that did the trick."

Michael nodded. "Interesting. Well, thanks a lot kid. You've been a big help."

"Yeah, thanks!" Henry smiled.

"No prob. Hey, before you go, can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

He turned the device back on. "Do you have any pokémon that I don't have data on? I need a leg up in the competition."

"Sure," Michael said. "Let's see... do you have Stunky?" He gestured towards the cage in Henry's hands.

The boy shook his head. "Nope. I saw one before, but I never got a chance to record anything... Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'll give you the entry. Let's see... it shoots out a really smelly gas from its butt. The gas is green, and the smell lasts for weeks."

As Michael talked, the boy typed furiously into the device. "Uh-huh."

"They live in grassy areas, mostly near the suburbs, and they're really hard to catch. They run really fast."

"... Okay. Got it. Thanks!"

Michael nodded. "No problem." He looked at the device some more, and smiled. "You know what that Pokédex needs? It needs a feature where you could add in pictures of pokémon."

Suddenly, the boy looked up. "What?"

"You know, a picture. Like put a little camera in there so when you see a new pokémon you take a picture of it. That would be boss, instead of reading stupid text."

"No, I mean... what did you call it?" The boy held up the device. "Poké...what?"

"Pokédex." Michael shrugged. "I don't know, just a shorter name for it. Pokémon Data Exploiter feels so lame to say. Like the cat's got my tongue or something."

The boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Pohh-kayy-dex... I like it! I'll have to remember that."

Michael nodded. "Well, good luck with the competition."

"Thanks. Good luck with the battle."

"Cool. Let's go, Henry." Michael turned for the door, and Henry started after him.

"Bye!" the boy called after them, and they left the building.

When Henry joined him outside, Michael put his hands in his pockets. "This is really interesting... do you realize that if we keep this up, we can beat every single Gym in Sinnoh? All we have to do is read up a bit on the pokémon, assemble a team to counter the leaders, and we'll be done!"

"What are you gonna do if you win? Are you gonna challenge the other Gyms?"

Michael thought for a moment. "Probably. If I get good enough, I can win fifty thousand bucks. What are you gonna do if you win?"

Henry puffed out his cheeks. "I don't know... All I want is to get the Coal badge so I can prove to myself and other people that I can do it. Maybe get the next two ones if I'm good enough... but I never thought about doing the entire League. It seems like such a big thing for one person."

A smile tugged at Michael's lips. "Then what about two?"

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"What if we challenged the League together? Think about it. Doing it as a team will be better than doing it alone."

"But we have no money!" Henry protested, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

"We'll start making some when we win battles. Look at how much I got just for Route 203."

"But it could take weeks for us to get anywhere! What if we don't make it? We'll have to go back home."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Cry me a river. I'm not a coward. I'm not gonna sit home wasting my entire life in my stupid room, moping about how dull my life is and how unfair everyone is to me. Remember how you told me that your friends treated you like dirt? Well, I had it even worse than that. But I'm actually gonna do something about it, because the fact is, if your life sucks now, it's gonna keep on sucking until you change it. I'll make my own money and success one day, and if you want to travel with me, then you have to share that goal. I'm not gonna stop you if you don't want to. So you can just go home right now, like a little baby, and keep on crying and whining. And maybe in a few months, you'll get to read about my victory in the newspaper."

Henry was hesitant. His tongue rolled around between his cheeks as he grappled with conflicting thoughts. His eyes frequently darted to the path, and for a minute, Michael was certain that he would refuse. After all, defeating the Pokémon League was probably far beyond his simple, sixth-grade fantasies.

But to his surprise, the little kid took his hand firmly and shook.

"Deal."

Gardenia101 September 6th, 2010 8:28 AM

Great. I can already see a major character change in Michael, with him helping the boy with his Pokemon Data Explorer, letting the boy examine the Stunky when he usually doesn't let anyone touch it. Also, I can already see a young proffessor in him. It looks like he's going to discover type strengths and weaknesses.

But, of course, at the end we see that this is still Michael Rowan ;)




PS: I didn't get a PM :O

Haruka of Hoenn September 6th, 2010 11:46 AM

Quote:

PS: I didn't get a PM :O
I VMed you.

So thanks for the review! Though, the Data Exploiter is more plot-related. You'll see how that ties in with the whole thing about type matchups. ;)

P.S. From here on, I'll be on a semi-hiatus. I'll try to find time to write, but that won't be much. Find some other fics to read in the meantime :P I'll be trying to devote as much time as possible to writing, so that'll mean less time on forums. Other days I might not be on at all. So... hope you'll all bear with me. But don't worry, I'm not giving up on this fic. It's too fascinating of an idea for me to drop.

Hope to see you next week!

Gardenia101 September 6th, 2010 11:49 AM

http://ts1.mm.bing.net/images/thumbnail.aspx?q=213204607806&id=2379a0ae7c251cd44224c9dec1828bde This is terrible!

Oh, well. I'll find other fanfictions for now. But yours is still the best!

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ September 9th, 2010 11:21 PM

Quote:

When machines get too how they can crash because their systems fail.
Hot, perhaps?

Ah, the precursor to the modern-day Pokedex shows up, complete with what might have been the very first use of the term, "Pokedex." And props for making it somewhat large and cumbersome... in those days actual computers still took up the space of entire rooms. I'm also seeing the plans for the first Pokemon type chart come into existence.

There's a slow but definite change in Michael's character, and that's typically the best way to go at it... have the character develop and change little by little over time (even though he was only helping that kid to get at the dirt on Byron's Pokemon. Teaming up with Henry doesn't seem to have any ulterior motive behind it, though...) I'm quite interested in this upcoming Gym battle because Michael's gonna be using strategy that's something completely new. And anyone using the power of science is a winner in my book.

Anyway, another nice chapter here, and looking forward to the next one... but take your time; there's my own fic and like 29 other sections of the forum I can hang out at anyway :P

Haruka of Hoenn October 4th, 2010 5:40 PM

Thank you for reviewing, LeSabre. I would respond to your review in greater dtai, but I have something else on my agenda...

Which just happens to be the posting of Chapter 8. Woop!


All right, before we begin Chapter 8, there are three things I want to get straight.

First off, here I feature some 60's music, mostly songs by the Beatles. (Tell me you didn't see this coming.) Of course, not all of their songs were released before 1963, but they had too many awesome hits after that date for me to leave them out. Therefore, the years won't really correspond, and the story won't be completely historically accurate. (But hey, the record players are accurate, right? Right?)

Second, (if any of you remember lololol) this is the chapter after Michael and Henry decide to take the League challenge together. This chapter will be full of battle scenes (snippets, actually). I hate writing battle scenes, so I wrote a bunch of them.

Third, a BIG thank you to LeSare for helping me out wth the hotels. You hlped me through my rough draft :D

Anyways, I hope my awful late-ness won't suddenly plunge Roots into an unfathomable abyss or anything and you'll still enjoy the chapter.

Read on.

0.8

The Oreburgh Trainer's Hotel was one of the town's newer buildings, built to commemorate the Pokémon League's third successful year of operation. When it was created in 1948, the League was meant to be a small, exclusive competition aimed towards giving gifted trainers opportunities for prolonged careers. Budget cuts forced it to reform, however, and in 1950, the challenge was expanded to include trainers from any part of the region. They would roam about the continent, challenging Gyms and each other, all looking up towards the final destination of the Elite Four. The challenge grew in popularity over the years; the 1956 season was met with an unprecedented level of entries, to the point where Sinnoh was stirred into a mass-migration, and cities were at a loss for what to do to accommodate all the new trainers flooding in.

Government officials created the eight-hotel chain in 1957, going beyond normal codes to built a sleek, silver structure that would stick out of the landscape like a sore thumb. They would be accompanied by a Pokémon Center, a customer-friendly facility designed especially to meet trainers' needs, and a Gym nearby. The goal was to make the structures memorable, to unify the diverse cities of Sinnoh under one logo - the pokéball. Eight buildings standing in eight cities, each exactly the same in design and furnishing, to give trainers from all over a sense of unity and pride.

But to Michael, it was just another thing to squint at.

From a distance, the hotel’s ten-floor glory shone with the sun’s painful light. Its windows were lined up in perfect rows, and the shades overhanging them did not sag the least bit. A vast lawn stood in place of the parking lot, housing shrubs and trees all trimmed to an eerie perfection. A tall sign stood by its entrance, an array of tubes spelling the phrase "WELCOME TRAINERS!" in traffic-stopping letters. When he and Henry crossed over into its walkway, Michael had to cup his hands over his eyes to shield them from the glare.

"Something smells like big business.” Michael said, looking up. “This is practically the tallest building in the town.”

"Yeah they’re pretty rich,” Henry said, nodding his emphasis. “And it's obvious why, I mean, so many people sign up for it and they get profits from selling merchandise.”

“Then the room better be the best damn thing I’ve ever slept in.”

Henry beamed. “It is! It’s amazing. Wait till you see."

He led them up to the lobby, which was dotted with people, much like the Pokémon Center was. The front desk took up most of the space; the rest was an elevator, a few framed advertisements, a magazine rack, and a candy machine. The woman behind the front desk tilted her head to see the new arrivals, and smiled.

"Good morning, Henry!" she called over the general noise.

The other kids turned at the disturbance, some snickering, though Henry paid them no mind. "Good morning Miss Katie!" he replied sunnily. "Guess what? I decided to challenge Byron again. And my friend Michael's taking the challenge too! We're gonna go drop off our stuff and battle out in the courtyard." Henry jostled Michael’s arm, proving that he was there. The clerk smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that. Good luck to the both of you!" She waved, and they got inside the elevator.

Henry's room was on the second floor, a little way down a wide hallway. It was smaller than Michael expected, but cozy to make up for it. Two beds dominated the center, with a nightstand in between and a vanity desk off to the side. Sunlight sifted through cracks in the closed blinds, casting sleepy shadows on the carpet. There was a rotary phone and a TV too, which made him smile. Upon entering the boys went their separate ways - Michael to the TV and Henry to the desk, where he took out a planner and scribbled down the date of the battle.

"There!" he said, and closed it with a satisfied smile. "Now all we gotta do is be ready. And look, I know just the place to battle. There's this courtyard out back. They're all trainers, of course, and they have matches there all the time. And since we’re gonna challenge the League together, I figured we should battle together too. We’ll be the unstoppable team of Henry and Michael!"

"Mhmm," Michael replied, though his mind had trailed off. He was kneeling down beside the TV set, staring expectantly at the screen as he pressed the power button. For a few seconds, the screen remained blank.

"... but you gotta be careful when we’re out there. Some of these kids are really tough. They've lost to Byron loads of times so they have a lot of tricks up their sleeves. But now that you’re here, we can show ‘em who’s boss! Right?”

"Uh-huh." Michael pressed the button harder, but still to no effect. Meanwhile, Henry found a magazine within the rubble on the desk and held it up. “Look, this is Pokémon League Weekly. It’s a magazine that’s especially for the competition. They have weekly tips from the Champion, official merchandise catalogues, and other really cool stuff that helped me loads when I just started out. Even experienced trainers read it, and I think it’s really helpful. You’ll like it too. The hotels keep them up to the last five issues I think, so when we have time, I’ll take you down to the lobby and we’ll pick out a few. You can read them till the newest one comes.”

“Cool.” Michael gritted his teeth. His finger was sore from where the button had wedged into his skin, and when he pulled it away, he saw a small square indentation. A groan escaped him, and he shook the television box with both hands. The antennae rattled noisily. "What the hell? Why won’t this TV work?"

Henry looked over the side of the bed. "Oh. Yeah, that's broken. The staff told us that they're gonna repair all the bad TVs next week, but-"

"Next week?" Michael rose, mouth agape. "You can't be serious, man! Do you know how much stuff you're missing? They update on the Space Race ten times in a week, and twice that for the news! Ugh. This is perfect. My one chance of catching up with things and it's blown!" Michael plopped down onto the bed, and the mattress creaked.

"Hey, it's not all bad,” Henry said, sliding over onto the other bed. “You can still read the Weekly.” He proffered the magazine, and Michael took it grudgingly.

The first thing he saw was a picture of a tanned, smiling boy posing next to a pair of girls against a background of steel arches. The heading read ‘Ricky Sheldon - Two Years Later’ and Michael guessed that he was the current Champion. A pokéball belt hung loosely from the boy’s waist and he wore a black pokéball-logo cap, though Michael had a hunch Ricky cared more for the girls than the pokémon.

When he opened the magazine, Michael saw large pictures and columns of print. The text was airy and friendly, though as he read, he noticed that it placed more emphasis on the League’s glamour and excitement than its actual mechanics. At the top of every page was an image of Ricky Sheldon’s head, next to the words “I did it - so can you!” in bold print. With every page he turned Michael felt more and more awkward in this uncharted territory, yet more and more immersed as the world of pokémon trainers wrapped itself around him. For a full two minutes, he was able to forget entirely of the Space Race, and let his mind be filled with pokéball maintenance tips, badge cleaning, and even color coordination.

He was about halfway through an absurd column about pokémon fashion - dark shades are in, apparently - when a sudden low-key music filled the room. At first, Michael thought he was hallucinating, but when he sat up, it became louder. The sound was tired and drawn-out, like a countryman hauling a heavy sack of potatoes, or old people dancing. The images made Michael cringe. He dropped the magazine onto the bed and looked over to see Henry standing by the vanity, a record player open beside him.

Michael’s grimace must have been disgusting, for he pushed the player’s arm away and cut off the song at once. “What?”

“What the hell did you do that for?” Michael said.

Henry shrugged. “I like to play music while I read. It’s relaxing.”

Michael crossed his arms and sighed. “Okay. First of all, you don’t randomly blare out music when someone else is reading. It’s not cool, and on top of that, it’s rude. I didn’t ask you to play me anything. And second of all... dude. Your mom must have dropped you on your head when you were little, because your taste is terrible. Forget relaxing; that song’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard!”

His words met Henry full in the face, and within seconds, the boy’s shoulders had drooped. “Sorry. I was just trying to make things a bit more fun. You know, since the TV wasn’t working. It’s just that this record is the only one I have. But I like it.”

Michael peered into the record player, but all he saw was a shiny black record with no label. "So whose is it?"

"My mom's," Henry replied.

"No, I mean the band. Who's the band?"

“Huh?” Henry’s eyebrows perked, then lowered. “Oh. No band, sorry. It’s an individual artist. I forget her name, but she’s really good.”

Michael snorted. “And how old is she, ninety?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I think the song’s really cool. It reminds me of the country.”

"More like retirement community. You need to really reconsider your tastes."

Henry bit his lip. "But there's nothing wrong with the song! My mom says-"

"I'm not asking you what your mom says. Seriously, you’re way younger than she is, and no teen would listen to that album. And yes, this even applies to you. You can’t like this stuff. You just can’t. End of story.”

Henry sat down in the chair and began to twist himself back and forth. “Yeah, I guess...”

“You ‘guess’ what? Isn’t there any other music you listen to?”

No answer.

“Do you listen to Pink Floyd?"

Henry shook his head. "Nope."

Michael stifled a laugh. "Pathetic. All right, let's try again. Do you listen to Jimi Hendrix?"

"No."

"How about the Beach Boys? The Rolling Stones?"

Henry shook his head for both, and repeated the motion for every single big name Michael called out, his eyes blank like a child's. When Michael had recited every single band in his collection, and had each one of them rejected by Henry, all he could do was stare in amazement.

"What rock do you live under? Seriously! You can't tell me you've never heard of any of them! And the Beatles, dude. How can you not know who the Beatles are?"

"I never said I didn't know who they were..." Henry said, his voice dropping to its familiar whisper. "I just don't listen to them."

"What, do you not like them or something?"

"No, I do. Their songs are really carefree and happy. You know, they make you feel good. And at the same time, some of them are really deep too. But my mom doesn't let me to listen to them. She things they're a bad influence."

"How?"

"She thinks that if I'll listen to them, I'll want to do drugs and wear my hair long and stuff."

"What's wrong with long hair?" Instinctively, Michael reached up to brush back his bangs. He hadn't cut his hair in over a month, so the ends nearly touched his shoulders. As a result of evenings cutting it with school scissors in front of a bathroom mirror, his layers were uneven and his hair formed a sort of messy black helmet. Yet, it was a style he had always liked, and one that any trip to the barber would ruin. Henry backpedaled instantly.

"Oh, I didn't mean you!" he said. "I don't think that all kids with long hair are bad. That would be unfair to, you know, the kids that aren't. It's just that some of them are. Like in my neighborhood, there's a group of kids who like to pick on people." Henry shifted. "They idolize rock bands, and they try to look like them by wearing their hair long. They get wasted after school too. One of them got into a car crash last month. I think it's because of the drugs, but my mom said it's because his hair was too long and he couldn't see what was in front of him. And she doesn't want me to be like them. My school, even. They suspend any boy with hair longer than the tips of his ears and they don't let him come back until he gets it cut."

"That's messed up," Michael said, shaking his head with true pity for the little kid. "What dump of a school do you go to?"

"It's a private school."

"Then it's no wonder you're such a sissy. The kids at private schools are too sheltered. You never learned to face the real side of life. You know, if you spend your entire childhood doing what your mommy says, you're never gonna learn to be yourself. You wanna listen to the Beatles? Let's listen to the Beatles." Michael went over to his backpack and opened it to its largest pocket, where he had packed his records. He had browsed rather hastily through his music collection that night, so of the Beatles he only had Abbey Road and The Beatles. Michael took out both albums and set them down on the table.

"Wow, you have Abbey Road!" Henry said. "That's their best!"

"I know. And from now on, we only listen to this.” Michael quickly replaced Henry's record with his and slid the player's arm over to start the song.

Immediately, a smooth, snappy beat shook the room, followed by the voice of John Lennon.

Here come old flat-top he come... groovin' up slowly he got...

The song went on, the notes weaving into strands of memories that entangled Michael's mind. The song made him think of summer, of his last days of school, sitting on a desk and throwing paper airplanes. He was walking through the halls with Cory and Brendan again, his footsteps in tune with the beat of drums. Music had always had that effect on him - it made his thoughts soar, and if he played it loud enough, he'd enter another world. Brian would always be complaining how he couldn't study with all the ruckus.

Beside him, Henry was also enjoying the tune. He was strumming his fingers against the wood and humming along to the words.

"This is amazing!" he said, smiling. "I haven't heard this song in such a long time. It reminds me of... well, me!"

"That's what music does," Michael said. "It puts you in a different state of mind."

"Yeah... and I don't want to stop listening to it!" Henry said. "Let's stay in a little longer, okay?"

"We'll be sitting here for hours. Let's just bring it with us."

"Out to the courtyard?" Henry looked to the door uncertainly.

"What? Is it not allowed or something?"

"No, but don't you think it'll be a bit weird if we just play music out in the open? People will stare and stuff."

"So what?" Michael switched off the record player, which had only begun to blare the chorus, and lifted the box into his arms. "Let's go. It'll attract attention and we'll get more challenges." With his free hand, he hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and motioned for Henry to follow.

They did not have to go far; the courtyard’s entrance was also on the first floor, at the end of an adjacent hallway. It was a simple, square field enclosed by a brick wall and centered by a flagpole. There were more than a few kids here, some hanging back in the corners and some running with their pokémon and flying kites. But what dominated the scene, and what Michael noticed first, was a large rectangular boundary marked by white paint. A mass of kids stood on the sides, cheering and pumping their fists around some sort of event. As he drew closer, Michael realized that in the center were two pokémon - a Poochyena and a Linoone - beating the crap out of each other.

"Wow! Let's watch!" Henry beamed. He tugged him forward by the sleeve, and Michael pressed the record player closer to his chest.

"Watch the player, watch the player!" But before he could pull away, he was already in the middle of the action, jostled by countless elbows and hands, his head filled with the noise. Through the constantly moving gaps, he could glimpse a boy in a black jacket squatting down on the Linoone’s end of the battlefield. His teeth were bared in a snarl that made him look strikingly similar to his pokémon.

"Go! Go! Use Slash!" he shouted, while the crowd of kids continued to cheer. Michael couldn't tell if the Linoone had obeyed or not; it continued to claw ravenously at the Poochyena's body as it had before, like a boxer whose adrenaline had gone off the edge.

The unfortunate opponent stood on the other side of the battlefield - a young girl, visibly younger than her opponent, watching the combatants twist over and around each other, with blue eyes so large they looked ready to burst. Michael strained to follow the pokémons’ moments, but just when he pinpointed their location, the blur of color had moved to another, taking a trail of dirt and whipping tails with it. Then, without warning, their dance snapped. The Linoone, apparently, was the one that had struck the final blow. The only thing Michael had time to see was a set of sharp, glinting talons raised up to the light, then brought down onto a wriggling grey body, drawing blood. The smaller pokémon collapsed, and the Linoone bellowed its victory. The girl's mouth fell open in what might have been a scream, but the sound was swallowed in an outbreak of applause. The boy in the black jacket stood and raised his arms like a champion boxer, before a posse of boys surrounded him, frantically exchanging strips of money. It all happened so fast that Michael barely had time to assess the situation.

Henry, however, seemed to process it perfectly. He was standing on his toes, pointing and shouting just like the others. His frantic gaze jumped from Michael, to the battlefield, then back again. “Wow, that was so amazing! Michael, did you see that last one? Huh? Did you see it? That kick, then the Slash, then the Poochyena just fell! It was so awesome! That kid’s good!”

Michael could only nod in reply.

It became quiet in waves, and the party surrounding the winner gradually receded, allowing him to pace the arena in all his arrogance.

"Anyone else wanna battle?" the boy shouted. "Come on, anyone?"

Several kids turned heads, but for a while, no one stepped up to take the challenge. The boy’s grin grew wider, as if this was what he had been expecting. Suddenly, Michael felt someone nudge his shoulder. He turned, and saw Henry wink.

"Come on, you so got this!"

"No!" Michael hissed. "Don't you get it? We can't rush into a battle that quickly! We have to watch to see what strategy this kid has so we can counter him."

“You sure? Well, fine then,” Henry said.

They watched in silence as another boy, a taller blond, rose up for the challenge. The two met, exchanged some verbal abuse, then went off in separate directions. The blond boy pulled a pokéball from his pocket and twisted it open. A bright flash lit his hands, then a small pokémon landed at his feet. A Turtwig. Michael's eyebrows perked. Quickly, he threw his backpack onto the ground and sat down next to it. Henry looked over, and bent down next to him.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"I'm making a chart." Michael took out his notebook and a pencil, and began to sketch a table. He divided it into several rows and columns, labeling the first row as 'Grass', and the first column as 'Normal' to stand for the Linoone. "See? This is perfect! That guy has a Turtwig, so by watching him, I can get a few good pointers on what to do with mine." Once he finished, Michael put his pencil down and watched.

The boy's Turtwig, meanwhile, had launched into a slow jog, its eyes narrowed. It made a clunky, labored pace, its leaf flopping awkwardly. Then, a gust of brown wind swept it off its feet, nearly too fast for the eye to see, and rolled with it onto the asphalt. The kids roared. Two bodies tumbled over, and the circle wobbled and widened as people rushed to step out of their way. Linoone was on top of its opponent now, lashing out with claws and tail, knocking the Turtwig forward and backward while the cheers drowned out its cries. It was a pitiful sight, and Michael tore his gaze away from it just in time to jot down a note: 'Linoone is very fast. Turtwig is slow. Linoone will knock out Turtwig before it can throw a single leaf.'

As he predicted, the boy with the Turtwig lost, and in a matter of minutes. The Linoone boy was once again surrounded by applauding fans, his white grin visible for only a few fleeting moments between the jumping bodies. His group of friends immediately broke off from the main crowd, headed away towards the flagpole. Michael caught glimpse of the blond boy somewhere behind, departing off to the sidelines, his eyes sunken.

"Wow, that boy was really good!" Henry said, watching the group go. "You should have battled him though. You could have so taken him.”

“Dude, did you see what he did to that kid’s Turtwig? The same thing would have happened to mine.”

Henry shook his head. “But you’re a better trainer than he was. You could’ve just done the leaf thing and knocked the Linoone out!”

Michael folded the chart and placed the notebook into his backpack. “What makes you think that if that kid’s Turtwig lost, mine would win? Same species of pokémon are the same. I mean, yeah, some can have genetic differences that would make them stronger or faster or weirdly-colored, but a Turtwig’s never gonna beat a Linoone in a race.”

“I guess,” Henry said. “So are we gonna go find some people to battle? I’ve got my team ready.” He tapped his knapsack.

Michael took a look around. A good portion of the crowd had left, though the kids that had stuck by were beginning to converge. They were all still on speaking terms, however, their voices mellow and hushed. When he and Henry approached, the circle opened a little. A boy with glasses immediately distanced himself to meet them, smiling, apparently recognizing them. He was a bit taller than Henry, and had a mound of red curls flopping over his ears.

“Henry! Hey!”

“Hi Sebastian!” Henry said, and skipped forward to meet him. “I didn’t see you there. Long time no see!”

“Yeah, where have you been all week?” the boy asked. “You’ve missed so much! Maria went on to Eterna and this one kid, Eric I think, got so frustrated he went home!”

Henry’s jaw dropped open. “Wow! Well, you know what they say. First Gym’s the hardest.” The two shared a laugh. Henry promptly turned to Michael and tugged him forward. “This is Michael. He’s my friend. I met him over by Route 203. We’re gonna take the Gym challenge together!” Then, to Michael, he repeated the introduction. “Mike, this is Sebastian. He’s one of the kids I met here. He’s really nice, and he’s a good trainer too.”

Henry stepped back, and the two boys looked each other over. Sebastian wasn’t much - he wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, and stood with a neutral posture pretty relaxed for his age. As his eyes traced Michael’s face, it was obvious that he sensed the age difference. “How old are you?” the boy asked.

“Thirteen,” Michael said, figuring there was no use hiding it. He watched, unsurprised, as Sebastian’s eyebrows climbed.

“Wow. That’s kinda late. When did you get your starter?”

“Few days ago.”

Sebastian nodded, but didn’t press it further. “Okay. So yeah, we were just about to get a battle started. Can you believe it? We had to wait for an hour so that Dennis kid and his group could finish.” He shook his head slowly. “He’s so annoying.”

“You mean that kid who just won?” Michael said. He looked over towards the flagpole, where the group of boys was gathered. They were kicking around something now - a soccer ball, it seemed - and laughing maniacally. When the ball hit the flagpole, it wobbled noisily, and the laughter increased. The kids around them were either watching in annoyance, or trying to ignore them.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that kid here before, though,” Henry said. “When did he check in?”

“About a day after you left. He’s been walking around like he owns the place from the start, and he hasn’t even battled the Gym yet.”

“Well, has anyone here beaten him before?”

“Oh yeah. But he never lets it get to him.” Sebastian’s face darkened. “He’s a friggin’ cheapskate, that kid. If he loses the bet, he says he’ll pay you tomorrow, but he never does. And if you ask about it, he pretends he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. So don’t battle him. Ever. It’s a loss either way.” He took a deep breath, and the redness in his cheeks subsided a little. “Anyway. We’re all waiting for him to take the Gym and move on outta here. His match is tomorrow, I think, and for our sake, I hope he wins. That way the decent ones will be able to practice too.”

“Okay. So who’s battling who now?”

“We were thinking of doing it in a sort of tournament style, only everyone gets to battle everyone. So one person gets to be it for the round, and the others in the group take turns battling him or her. If they win, then the next person in line goes, but if they lose, then the challenger takes their spot and the next person comes in, and so on.”

“Sounds cool,” Henry said. “Who’s it?”

Sebastian pointed to himself. “Me. Kyle already called first, but the rest we’ll just choose as we go along. You guys in?”

“Sure,” Michael said.

“All right,” Henry said, pumping his fist. “Let’s do this!”


From there, the group arranged itself pretty quickly. Michael got in line after Cindy, and Henry went behind him. Sebastian took his place at the head of the battlefield, and removed one pokéball from his belt.

“Go!” he shouted, releasing a jet of white light, which gathered itself into a ball and took the shape of a Geodude. The pokémon rolled around on the terrain, its two arms flexing, then finally settled in front of its trainer.

The second boy, Kyle stepped forward to take the second side. He released a Machop. Suddenly, the box in Michael’s arms began to feel very, very heavy. Grinning, he set it down and opened it. Henry noticed, and bent down at once.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“I thought this could make things more interesting.” Michael slid the arm over the record and turned up the volume. Within seconds, ‘Come Together’ was blasting out through the courtyard, so loud that the ground seemed to shake.

HERE COME OLD FLAT-TOP HE COME... GROOVIN' UP SLOWLY HE GOT -
JU JU EYEBALL HE ONE... HO-LY ROLLER HE GOT -
HAIR - DOWN - TO HIS KNEE.
GOT TO BE A JOKER HE JUST DO WHAT HE PLEASE...


The sound spread, awakening curious eyes from all over their section of the courtyard. Michael waved to them nonchalantly, and placed the record player into his lap. Henry covered his ears, but Sebastian and the others didn’t seem to mind. The line began snapping, and over the sound he heard -

“Geodude, use Rollout!”

At the command, Geodude tucked its arms over its eyes and rolled forward. The brown ball gained speed, until the cracks on its body seemed to smooth out and its arms vanished in the blur. It zigzagged across the field, throwing up a cloud of dirt, advancing towards the Machop to knock it down like a bowling pin.

On the other side of the field, Machop stood quite still, with a single reedy arm raised in front of it. It appeared rather silly at first, and for a moment, Michael was certain that Geodude would strike first. The pokémon was rolling forward with ferocious speed, its arms flattened, while the Machop stood, its eyes narrowed and focused.

And then, the tiny reedy green arm became a veined, muscular fist.

The song was split by the sickening crack of bone against rock, and the Geodude flew out backwards across the ground it had covered only seconds ago. The pokémon bounced, its arms flailing, and finally rolled over near the white boundary line. Michael leaned forward, unable to believe his eyes. Machop had just whacked a fifty mile-per-hour Geodude like a baseball, and wasn’t the least bit tired. In contrast, the pokémon looked more pumped than ever, huffing as it bounced on the balls of its feet. For a while, the music faded to his ears.

“Wow, Machop’s awesome!” he heard a girl from the line exclaim. “I’m telling ‘ya, that kid can’t fail.”

Michael continued to watched Geodude. There was a lapse in attacks for a moment; the Machop was pumping his energy and the Geodude was clawing weakly at the ground, trying to pull itself up. Before it could succeed, however, the Machop was on top of it again, pelting it with kicks and bullet punches that must have knocked the air out of its cold, hard body. When the Machop bounded back to its trainer, the Geodude was rolling around idly, its eyes closed.

He felt the question coming. Quickly, Michael reached into his backpack and pulled out the chart, adding in a new row labeled ‘Fighting’, then a new column, ‘Rock’. When he finished, he turned to the kids in the line.

“You guys have seen that Machop battle before, right?”

The blonde-haired girl who had spoken before looked down. “Yeah. We battle a lot. Why?”

“Have you seen it battle other rock-like pokémon like Geodude?”

The girl shrugged. “Yeah.”

“What would you say happens in those battles? Does the Machop lose, or does it usually knock them all out?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s hard to say... actually, yeah, I guess he does win a lot against rock pokémon. When he battled Martha’s Graveler, he practically had it in the bag from the start.” She looked over to the girl next to her, who smiled sheepishly.

“He’s a good trainer,” Martha said.

Michael smiled to himself. “Interesting. Very interesting.” He bent back over his chart and placed an ‘E’ in the intersecting square.

In less than a few minutes, Sebastian had lost. His next pokémon - a Shinx - had managed to defeat the Machop, but had given way to Kyle’s Glameow. By then, Abbey Road was more than halfway through. The surrounding kids had either gotten used to the music and were ignoring it, or were watching from the sidelines and singing along. When Sebastian came back to the sidelines, loosening his pokéball belt, Michael’s arm was sore from writing.

“All right, who’s next?”

The girls quickly exchanged glances. “Uh...”

“Wait, wait! I wanna go!” Henry scrambled to his feet. “I wanna go next.”

“Okay,” Sebastian said. “Go Henry.”

Henry beamed. “All right! Now you’ll finally see me battle, Michael!”

Still sitting with his legs crossed, Michael nodded. “Yup.”

“Wish me luck, guys!” Henry waved, and skipped onto the battlefield. He searched through his knapsack, pulling out a pokéball, then putting it back for another. The Skorupi, meanwhile, was clicking its jaw impatiently.

“Come on, Henry!” Kyle called. “Just pick one!”

“All right, all right!” Henry finally settled on one - though they all looked the same to Michael - and put the other two away. He twisted the pokéball open, squinting as the light burst around him. At first, Michael thought he was hallucinating. What appeared to be a pile of leaves had landed at Henry’s feet, shifting and squirming as if there was something ugly hiding inside.

“Oh, there he goes again.” Martha sighed.

“He always uses him,” Cindy said, crossing her arms. “Poor kid. He’s probably just trying to show off.”

“Wait, what?” Michael turned to the girls. “What are you talking about? What is that?”

Cindy shrugged. “A Burmy.”

“A what?”

“A Burmy,” she repeated. “And none of us have any idea how he got one. They’re supposed to live in this exotic, faraway island, so it’s practically impossible.”

“And what’s so special about it? Is it super powerful or something?” Michael turned back to the battlefield. The pile of leaves had sprouted a tiny head. The leaves covered all but two yellow eyes, and a twisted horn protruding from the top.

“No one knows. We’ve seen him battle with it and stuff, but it’s no different than any other pokémon. The only thing is...” Cindy’s voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.

“Yes?” Michael said. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s sort of hard to explain. Once, when we all went out for a walk outside the hotel, Henry took Burmy. And you see how he has those leaves covering him up?” She pointed to the pokémon. He was dodging an array of slices from the Skorupi, hopping from one toothpick foot to another. When he jumped, instead of falling as it should have, the cloak of leaves remained attached to his torso as if glued there.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “What about it?”

“It changed. And it was totally sudden, like the minute he came out of the pokéball. It went from green to, like, a shade of pink. And it was all fluffy, like it wasn’t made of leaves anymore.”

Michael nodded slowly. “And does that happen every time he goes outside?”

“I can’t say I watch it a lot, but the leaves stay on mostly when he’s here, like in the courtyard with all the grass. But the minute we go out into the city, the leaves go away. It’s the weirdest thing.”

“And he’s never taken it to a specialist or anything?”

“Nope. No one knows about it. And he doesn’t seem to care either. He just likes it because it’s ‘special’.” She put air quotes around the word.

Michael’s pencil made a clink clink sound as he tapped the notebook’s spiral. He watched Henry call out a command, and the Burmy’s entire three-pound bulk leaped upon the Skorupi. The Skorupi snarled, and tossed him off with its claws.

“Do the types of moves Burmy uses change when his cloak changes?”

Now Cindy’s eyebrow perked. “You ask a lot of questions. Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Actually, Cindy, I think they do!” Martha snapped her fingers. “Remember the time when he used a grass attack? And then he never used it anywhere else?”

“What are you talking about? No they don’t.” The girls both turned as Tony stepped forward. “You guys have got it all wrong. Burmy always uses the same moves in a battle no matter what.”

“How do you know, you don’t even watch!” Martha said, hands on hips.

“Yeah I do. Are you kidding me?”

“No you don’t, and you know it!”

“Guys, guys!” Michael threw up his hands, and they looked down at him. “It doesn’t matter if the moves change or not. I was just curious. I needed to figure out something.”

“Fine.” Tony shrugged and backed away. “All I’m saying is that they don’t change.”

“Do too,” Martha said.

Michael rolled his eyes. He began watching the battle again, and from what he gathered, Henry was losing. Burmy was being whipped by the Skorupi’s tail, writhing under the gusty blows. When it could take no more, Burmy crumpled, and became once more a pile of leaves on the sidewalk.

“Aww!” Henry shouted. “Darn. All right, return.” He called Burmy back inside and swapped its pokéball with a second.

The pokémon it yielded was a Clefairy, giddy and bouncing. Henry gave the command almost immediately.

“Clefairy, use Wake-up Slap!”

Michael leaned forward.

The Skorupi was charging, the thorn on the end of its tail brandished forward. It wasn’t as fast as the Geodude, though menacing to make up for it. Clefairy shied off to the side, its eyes trembling as they held its thorn in their focus.

“Come on, Clefairy! You gotta get out of the way! Use Wake-up Slap!” Henry urged.

The Skorupi was advancing, yet Clefairy remained still. Then, suddenly, it came to its senses. It turned its tail and scampered away, as fast as its two legs would allow. Michael exploded in laughter. He clutched his stomach and rolled onto his back, letting the pencil fall from his grasp. The battle had become a playground chase, with the Clefairy running and hopping while the Skorupi snapped at its heels.

“Aww! Come on, Clefairy!” Henry slapped his forehead and groaned. “You can’t keep doing this! Don’t bail out on me now!”

The Clefairy ignored him. Its eyes were as wide as golf balls. When the Skorupi’s tail snapped forward they would bulge, and the pokémon would let out a loud squeal.

Kyle, however, remained serious. “Skorupi, finish it off! Use Poison Sting!”

The Skorupi gained speed. Its tail whipped out to the side, the thorn jabbing into Clefairy’s skin. The pokémon let out a pained scream, then its kicks stopped. Its legs became limp, and its body tumbled over. Skorupi’s tail had left a large wound. Blood oozed, mixing with dirt, yet there was a third, purple substance trickling onto the sidewalk.

“Yuck!” Martha gasped. “I’m never gonna raise a poison pokémon.”

Henry’s face fell further. His voice was barely audible over the music as he said, “Okay, return.” He reached into his knapsack one final time and pulled out a third pokéball, his last. He looked at it thoughtfully, then twisted it open.

The pokémon released was a Pachirisu, a face that was all too familiar. Michael’s neighborhood was crawling with them; he often saw them picking food out of trashcans and scampering up tree trunks, often throwing acorns down at people’s heads. This one looked exactly like the type - its eyes were round and mischievous, and its bushy tail twitched with excitement. Michael couldn’t help but feel an old loathing bubble up.

“Pachirisu, use Quick Attack!”

“Skorupi, use Poison Sting!”

At first, it seemed like it would be a repeat of Clefairy’s struggle. The Skorupi charged forward, while the Pachirisu hung back, sparks gathering at its cheeks. But then it sprang forward as well, its tail bouncing off its heels. Skorupi raised its tail like a sledgehammer and brought it down, but the smaller pokémon leaped out of its way with surprising speed.

“Wow!” Sebastian said. “That was quick! I think he’s getting the hang of it.”

Henry was beginning to smile again. He clenched his fist. “All right! Now follow through, buddy!”

The Pachirisu swiveled around back towards the Skorupi and leaped on top, pinning its tail to its back. The bolts on its cheeks flared up, and shot a current through the Skorupi’s body. The Skorupi’s muscles seized, trying desperately to shake the Pachirisu off in between violent spasms.

Now, Kyle’s face began to show a trace of frustration. “Skorupi, hang in there! Crunch!”

The Skorupi rolled over several times, until the Pachirisu’s arms slipped. Its lips spread open into a smile of silver razors. They opened and shut, closing on a chunk of Pachirisu’s tail and legs.

“No!” Henry shouted. “Get out of it! Hurry!”

The Pachirisu tried to wriggle free, but the Skorupi’s jaw was locked. Its teeth swished from side to side, in a sickening grinding of skin, while the Pachirisu’s eyes rolled up to their whites. The pokémon fell limp, and Skorupi spat it out.

“Well done!” Kyle grinned. His Skorupi turned away from its victim and went back to its trainer. Michael felt a slight pity for the kid as Henry bent down beside his fallen pokémon.

“All right... return.”

Pachirisu’s twitching body faded into white, then vanished inside the capsule.

The Henry that came back to them was sullen and sighing.

The first one to speak was Martha. “It’s okay,” she said, giving him a pat. “Better luck next time.”

“Yeah dude,” Sebastian said. “You’ll get better, don’t worry.”

Henry nodded his thanks. He stopped beside Michael last. “Are you ready to go? I’m gonna go back inside now.” His tone revealed nothing.

“Sure.” Michael stood up. He closed the record player and tucked it under his arm. “See you guys around.”

“Bye everyone.” Henry waved, and they headed back towards the building. Once they were well out of earshot, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“I hate this,” he mumbled. “It’s always the same thing over and over again, and I don’t know why. At the rate I’m going, I’ll probably flunk the Gym again... Man, I’m sick of losing.”

“That’s great then.” Michael smiled. He folded his chart neatly and placed it back into his backpack. “Because I know exactly how we can beat it.”

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ October 6th, 2010 8:58 AM

Quote:

Third, a BIG thank you to LeSare for helping me out wth the hotels.
I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO THIS "LeSARE" PERSON IS! LeSaBre is the hotel expert on this site :P

Anyway, good work on the hotel, and the reasoning behind the founding of the chain is actually consistent with real-world hotel chains founded around that time... Holiday Inn, the motel end of Howard Johnson, and Ramada Inn were all created to provide modern, affordable lodging to a specific category of travelers... in your case, traveling Pokemon trainers and in their case, traveling families.

Did they have "portable" (and I use the term loosely since those things were huge) record players that were battery-powered? The ones I remember my parents having was part of their home stereo system and only ran on AC power.

I prefer 80's music, lol. Just a side note.

It's always nice to see more strategizing by Michael, though I wish he would battle for a change :) He could've taken on that Geodude lol. However, I like that now he's taking other factors besides type into account, such as Linoone's high speed, and how those attributes affect battle. And it looks like there's a plan in place for tackling the gym, and I'm looking forward to seeing what that is.

Another good chapter, nicely detailed, and Michael was able to fill up more slots on his type chart and get some new ideas for how to battle. I'm looking forward to the next chapter!

Haruka of Hoenn October 9th, 2010 1:23 PM

Oh gosh, did I really mispell that -_-

Haha. Anyways, thanks for the review. I'm pretty sure they did have portable record players. I did a bit of research and looked at a couple pictures. They got a lot smaller; I can tell you that. I was satisfied at how the ending came out, though it was completely different from what I originally planned.

Seriously, this fic has changed a LOT since I first set out to write it. I'm hoping that's a good thing...

See you next chapter :)

Haruka of Hoenn October 31st, 2010 5:57 AM

This chapter is possibly the longest I've ever written for this fic. (About 20 pages.) I don't know how quickly I'll be able to get the next one up, but in the meantime, I hope you'll like this one.

Read on!


0.9

Michael woke up early the next morning, which he hadn't done for as long as he could remember.

The previous day had ended rather quickly. When he returned to the hotel room, Michael immediately sat behind the desk and began to scribble on a fresh sheet of paper. His thoughts were clicking by faster than his hand could write, so he frequently had to stop and erase where his pencil had tripped over the lines. He had devised a formula based on the types of Henry’s pokémon and what he had learned from the boy in the Pokémon Center. The formula for Byron’s Gym was:

Geodude: Grass, water, fighting. (NOT electric.)
Onix: Grass, water, fighting. (NOT electric.)
Bronzor: Fighting. If all else fails, luck it out.

Below that, Michael made a few notes on each of Byron’s pokémon’s appearances and how they moved, trying to remember what he had read on the boy’s PokéDex the previous day.

When he told Henry what he had found, the boy responded with a mixture of gratitude and disappointment. “Why didn’t I think of that?” When Michael asked him where his head had been when he lost to Byron, Henry replied with, “I guess I just didn’t know what to do with my team.” Michael would make a more personalized battle plan for Henry later - he’d have to take care of his own first.

Theoretically, Michael knew that if he were able to do a bit of research on the Gym and formulate a counterattack before a battle, he’d pretty much have it all in the bag before he stepped out onto the field. The thought excited him, but either way, he knew that he’d have to get more pokémon sooner or later. If his Turtwig lost, he’d be doomed.


This was the thought Michael was turning over in his mind as he got out of bed, ran his fingers through his hair, and sat down at the table. Henry’s planner was wide open in front of him so he could read the date: Monday, May 30th. The battle was one day away. Henry himself was dead asleep in the second bed, with his arms thrown over his head and his mouth lolling open like a child’s. Usually, this was the type of face he and his friends would color on with markers, but right now, Michael didn’t feel in the mood. Without Cory and Brendan there, he felt a strange detachment from his old life, though deep inside, nothing really had changed.

He went over to Henry’s side and shook his arm. “Wake up. We’re going outside to catch pokémon.”

Henry’s lips moved soundlessly. He rolled over, letting his face sink into the pillow, so his voice came out as a mumble. “Urgh... What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty-one. Get up.” Michael shook him again, and Henry rubbed his eyes. He began to kick off his blanket, and yawned deeply when he got to his feet. His eyes were watery and droopy, though the boy did his best to put on a smile.

“Morning.” He blinked. “Wait. Is the battle today?”

“No. It’s tomorrow.”

Henry relaxed, breathing deeply. “Oh, good. For a minute there, I thought we missed it. We still have a day.”

“Yeah and that’s the problem. We have to catch some pokémon before the battle.”

Henry blinked, puzzled. “But I already have a team.”

“For me, stupid. Do you honestly think I can beat the League with only a puny Turtwig?”

“Oh... right. What kind?”

Michael held up the formula sheet. “You have a good counter team, but I don’t. I need a water type or a fighting type. Can I find either of those here?”

Henry rubbed his chin. “Well... yeah, I think you can find some fighting types in Route 207. I don’t know about water, though.”

“That’s good enough.” Michael placed the paper back onto the desk. “I’ll also need to get some more pokéballs, and we need to battle at least once before tomorrow.”

Henry yawned. “Then we have a big day ahead of us.”

“Yes,” Michael said impatiently. “And every second you waste by standing there looking at me is a second away from our preparation time! Get dressed and let’s go.”

This seemed to set Henry in motion. He rushed over to the closet and shut himself inside, and after a few minutes of rustling and clanging, came out in a T-shirt and shorts. The hat had magically appeared on his head, as had the knapsack on his waist.

Michael hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the door. He turned, expecting to see Henry following along behind him, but instead saw the boy turn and walk into the bathroom.

Michael let out a groan. “Come on, you can brush your teeth later!”

The mirror lights came on, and water began pouring from the faucet. “No! You have to do it every morning!” Henry called. “Or your teeth will go all brown!”

“They won’t go brown after one day. Trust me. Now get your ass over here.”

“Fine,” Henry snapped. The water and lights went off, and his sulking shoulders appeared from behind the door. Just as Michael was about to turn the knob, Henry made another turn, this time for the shelves. He took down a can and sprinkled some chunky bits of meat into his palm.

“Just let me feed your Stunky.” He tossed the meat into the cage, right over the Stunky’s sleeping body. He placed the can beside the cage, then finally joined Michael by the exit. “Okay, ready.”

Outside, the city was warm and sunny, and filled with people. The early morning energy was beginning to wear off him, and Michael found himself fighting to keep his eyes open as he crossed the street. Their first destination was a hardware store two blocks down. The store had only one room, heavy racks lining the walls, displaying shiny metal goodies. As far as Michael could tell, he and Henry were the only people who shopped for hardware at nine in the morning. The only other person there was a cashier, who also looked quite tired. He acknowledged them with a nod, then went back to drinking his coffee.

Michael perused the aisles, his eyes skimmed over the shelves. He didn’t find any pokéballs, however. He met Henry back at the center of the store, seeing that he was also empty-handed. The store clerk, still watching them, seemed to read his mind.

“Looking for pokéballs?”

“Yeah,” Michael said.

The clerk nodded. “We got ‘em. Come around here. We don’t keep ‘em on shelves.”

Michael approached the counter, and saw the clerk remove a basket from one of the invisible cabinets behind it. It was filled with them, all under a price label of $4.50. Each.

Michael did a double-take. “Four-fifty?”

“I don’t price them, kid, I sell them. Those are the only models available, and they’ll probably be the only ones available ever. One choice, one price.”

Michael thought hard, staring at the paper. “Do they ever miss?” he asked, looking over to the clerk. “Like, can the pokémon break out?”

“Sometimes,” the man answered. “No refunds, though.”

“Can they be reused?”

“If you don’t throw too hard.”

Michael looked back down at the pile of shiny metal orbs. He handed over the money solemnly, and removed one. The clerk placed the money into a separate box.

“Anything else? We have premium pokémon food on sale, and new issues of Pokémon League Weekly for twenty cents.”

“I’ll take the Weekly,” Michael said, reaching into his pocket for some coins. Against all odds, he had grown to like the magazine. Though it was corny at times, occasionally he’d find something in there that was worth reading. Plus, it gave his mind something to concentrate on that didn’t have to do with the Space Race. Having immersed himself in the trainer’s world as deep as two days would get him, the urge to turn on the television was beginning to dwindle. He took a look at the front cover when the clerk handed it to him: Elite Four get new Facility Decor. Boy oh boy.

On their way out, Michael stopped by a bench and flipped through to the article. Henry looked on by his side.

"... Pokémon League's Elite Four get renovated..." Michael recited, skimming across the rows of print. "Wow, they spent $15,000 on new decorations and sofas for their trainers? That's so stupid."

"Told you they were rich," Henry murmured.

Michael scanned down the page, but found nothing else. "You know what I don’t get? They never put up pictures of that place. All they do is tell us how awesome it is. Not even a map, for Pete’s sake. If we don’t know what it looks like, how are we supposed to know where it is?"

"It's about fifty miles off the coast of Sunyshore," Henry said. "And that's all they want you to know. It's supposed to be a surprise, like sort of incentive to get people to compete harder."

“Wow.” Michael turned the page. “I wonder if it’s actually as good as they say, or if it’s all just a bunch of hype.”

“They’ve got trainers from all over the region wanting to beat it. It must be good then,” Henry said. “And at any rate, there’s only one way to find out, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Michael dog-eared the page before closing the magazine. “All right, now we have to catch a pokémon. You know where Route 207 is?”

Henry rose to his feet. “Yeah, it’s past the northern exit. It’s a bit far, but we can make it.”

“Let’s go then.”

They stepped back out into the stream of foot-traffic, and started forward through it. As they walked, Michael recited his plan for the Gym. Henry kept his eyes mostly on the signs, though he nodded intermittently.

“We know that Byron has two rock type pokémon and one steel type pokémon. Remember how that kid with the PokéDex said that his Buneary did a good job against the Bronzor?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Buneary’s a fighting type. And if I’m right, fighting types have some influence over steel. So we have to find a fighting pokémon for me now.”

“But what about me?”

“You have a Clefairy. Does your Clefairy know any moves that involve some sort of punching or kicking?”

“Yeah, she knows this move called Wake-Up-Slap, where she basically just slaps the other pokémon on the face. Would that count as fighting?”

“Maybe. What about punches?”

Henry shook his head. “No punches.”

“Then just do what you can with Wake-Up-Slap. Oh, and another thing. Don’t use Pachirisu.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s an electric type pokémon. Have you ever tried to use an electric move on a ground type?”

“Yeah!” Henry exclaimed. “And it never works! The lightning bolt goes through, but it’s like it vanishes! The pokémon doesn’t even get hurt or anything!”

“That’s because they negate electricity. Their type resists it. So don’t even bother trying. Stick with grass and water if you can. They both erode.”

“What about wind? Wind erodes too.”

“Okay, but would a tiny breeze move a boulder?”

“I guess not... I’ll just use my Burmy then.”

“Yeah, and you know the expression ‘kill two birds with one stone’? Guess what that means.”

Henry smiled. “Rock types can hurt flying types! That makes so much sense! Did you-“

“I already added that to the chart.” Michael winked. “Already two steps ahead of you.”

They looped their way through the city gradually, and Michael began to see the beginnings of a strange white building. At first it was obscured by other, lesser structures, then over time, it became more pronounced. Michael realized it was made out of stone. There was no telling how many floors it had, for in place of windows there were intricate carvings and statues.

They came closer, and Michael could read the ornate letters on its face:

OREBURGH MINING MUSEUM - SINCE 1660

Underneath that, a paper banner:

REAL Fossils! Recent mine discoveries! Open from 8 to 9 every day!

Michael’s eyes widened. He had never seen a real museum before, only pathetic symposiums his school sometimes took field trips to. Though it was wider than it was tall, the building still gave off the grand impression of height. Real pillars stood around its perimeter, parting to make room for a parking lot, a few trees, and a statue of some historical figure holding a shovel. People sat smoking on its benches, admiring the view.

“Wow,” Michael said aloud. “That’s a really cool museum.”

Henry looked up, squinting. “Yep. That’s the Oreburgh Mine Museum. This means we’re almost there.”

“We should visit it sometime.”

“Yeah.”

They stood for a moment, just looking up at it, then continued walking.




//////



Route 207 was a tired, rugged landscape that felt more like a continuation of the city than a separate entity. Most of its plant life worn away from years of foot travel and landslides, leaving bare foothills disturbed occasionally by patches of dry grass. Here, the Coronet mountains were closer than ever. Michael could feel the land’s upward slope, from plains to hills to cliffsides. He had studied them in school for two painful weeks, and now knew almost everything about them. Their highest peak, Mt. Spear (the name always made him laugh), reached a staggering 37,648 feet. No one had ever reached the top.

The route was sparsely peopled - Michael saw a group of trainers here and there, and a few hikers, sweaty and drinking greedily from water flasks. Pokémon were also abundant. Starlies sat in the trees, plucking their feathers, and families of Geodude snoozed in their burrows.

“The Machops should be here,” Henry said. “They’re all over the place.”

“Where should I look?”

“In the bushes. That’s where Kyle found his.”

Michael took a look around. Bushes were scarce, but they were full and large. He went up to one and ran his fingers through it, letting a few leaves fall to the ground. Nothing happened. He shook it harder, but all he heard was an empty rustle. He went over to the next one and repeated the process. Still nothing.

“Check around it too!” Henry called to him. “Here, I’ll help.” He approached another bush and carefully pried apart the branches.

They went for about twenty minutes without finding anything, twenty painful minutes of aimless wandering, while the heat got stronger and stronger. Michael was beginning to regret not taking a water bottle with him, let alone having breakfast. The boys decided to take a break under a tree, where the heat would not reach them yet, their heads tilted back against the trunk.

When he closed his eyes, Michael could feel the heat throb inside of him. His head felt heavy.

“Man... why does summer have to be so hot?” Henry complained.

“Because the Earth tilts on its axis and the sun hits us,” Michael mumbled. “I don’t like it any more than you do. Deal with it.”

“I guess...” A sigh. “I wish I was at home right now. We have a pool, and I used to swim all the time in the summer. The water was nice and cold and blue. Then my mom would make smoothies, and I’d drink it right by the water. Strawberry banana. With those little umbrella things.”

“Well, you’re not at home right now. And your mommy’s not here to kiss your booboos.”

“I didn’t say that,” Henry’s voice receded a little. “I just said she made really good smoothies. She’d buy fruit fresh from the store, right before anyone else. She always wanted to buy a plot of land and start a farm herself. Just for the family.”

“What, is your family rich or something?”

Henry nodded, and when he did, his cheeks grew slightly pink. “Yeah.”

Michael opened his eyes halfway. “So your parents give you whatever you want?”

“Yeah, but they’re not... like, they set limits. They tell me to shop smart and don’t buy me anything unless I can prove I need it. They got me my Burmy for my birthday, but the rest, you know, I caught myself.”

Michael smiled a little at the irony of the moment, but for a while, he said nothing.

“So?” Henry’s voice came, after a while.

“So what?” Michael replied. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that when I tell people I’m rich, they always look at me weird. Maybe because I don’t seem like it, or it’s a bad thing.”

“Nah, you seem like the type. Rich boy, always gets everything he wants. Then you have me, the kid who gets nothing, has no one, who has to fend for himself. It’s not bad to be rich, you just can’t let it take over your life. See, it’s like what I said before. You can be nice and pampered when you’re a kid or you can live in a wooden shack and eat dirt all day; it still won’t matter. Because when you grow up, none of it applies. The minute you leave home and set off on your own, it’s just you. You against the world.”

Henry nodded slowly.

For a while, they sat in silence. Then, Michael heard a gasp.

“Michael! Look!”

He opened his eyes fully now, and saw Henry’s outstretched hand. He was pointing to the path, where a tiny green body had emerged. Michael leaned forward for a better look.

It was a Machop, all right, wandering in the clearing. The pokémon was completely oblivious to the humans that lurked only a few yards away; it was walking amiably, alternating between swinging its arms and picking at the ground. The sun cast a fragile shine on its leathery skin, highlighting the obvious ripple of its muscles. It wasn’t as big as the one he had seen on the battlefield, but at this point, Michael didn’t care. Henry stood up into a crouch, and whispered into his ear.

“Okay, now’s your chance! You want to catch it completely off-guard. Like, not make a sound. Then you slowly creep up to it, and just throw the pokéball. It’ll stay in for a few moments, and when it’s caught, the red knob will lock itself. But if the pokémon’s strong enough, it could break free, and then you’ll have to try again.”

Michael nodded. “Okay.” He took the newly-bought pokéball out of his backpack’s pocket and crawled forward, till he was almost out of the tree’s shade. The Machop’s big brown eyes found their hiding place, swept over their faces, then trailed off to the treetops.

Michael turned back to Henry. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You come in from the left, slowly, so it’ll see you. I’ll come in from the right, where it won’t see me. You’ll distract it. Do a dance or whatever, just get it to watch you. Then I’ll just throw the pokéball, and the sucker won’t even know what hit him. Got it?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Henry gave him a thumbs-up.

They started off simultaneously, Michael on his hands and knees, and Henry getting up onto his feet. He began to hop around and clap, and the Machop turned to the source of the noise. It blinked.

“Heeey, look over here!” Henry called. “Yoo-hoo!” The Machop shifted its stance. Its hands curled into fists, then uncurled, until it realized that there was no danger. Just another stupid boy doing some stupid dance, it probably thought.

Henry continued to clap, though now he switched from hopping to skipping. He skipped left, then right, then back, the Machop’s gaze followed his every move.

Meanwhile, Michael was advancing behind it. The pokémon was still unsuspecting of him, as according to plan. He inched closer every few seconds, until he could see the tiny rise-and-fall of its chest. He could reach out and stroke the spines on its head if he wanted to.

Come on little guy... He took the pokéball into both hands and began to twist it open. Stand nice and still...

The pokéball fell open in his hands with a loud clank. The Machop’s body shuddered, and the pokémon spun around. Seeing him, and realizing it was tricked, the Machop let out a cry and darted off.

“No! Get back here!” Michael scrambled to his feet. The Machop was aiming for the bushes again, running with its head ducked down like a football player. He started after it as fast as he could, but the Machop had gained too much ground already. Still, Michael kept running, running and shouting.

“Henry! Get it!”

Henry jerked his head to the side just in time to see the Machop pass by him. He dove forward, catching it around the middle. They fell to the ground, Henry grunting, the Machop squirming. It kicked and smacked at his shoulder.

“Hurry!” Henry winced. His arms were wrapped around the pokémon’s body in a cruel hug. Michael held the open pokéball to Machop’s body with shaking hands.

Almost instantly, all color from the pokémon’s body vanished, swallowed by a sudden light, blinding white. It blossomed and burst, taking the route along with it in a horrible, torrential sucking. The light shrank, disintegrating into a shapeless beam, fleeing into the pokéball’s interior like a lightning bolt. Stripes of pain erupted in his hands, and the metal gained a sudden weight. The light pooled into a tight clump around the pokéball, then it closed with a loud slurp. It jerked out of his hands, bounced, and rolled into the dirt.

The pokéball lay on the ground, twitching. The red knob was twisting back and forth of its own accord, making strange squeaking noises. It began to twist down, then it locked, and Michael heard a soft ping as it touched the metal.

Henry smiled. “It’s over. You’ve caught it!”

Michael looked down at his hands. They looked like they had been burned with rope. He picked up the pokéball using the tail of his shirt, though its dulled heat still prickled his fingers.

“Damn, that hurts!” he winced.

“That’s why most trainers wear gloves. We’ll get some when we go back into town.”

“Uh-huh.” Michael staggered over to his backpack and dropped the pokéball inside. He waited for a few moments for the pain to subside, then slung it over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

Michael started back towards the city. When Henry caught up with him, Michael said, “Man that was the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“What?”

“The pokéball. I swear, my eyes still hurt from it. Are all captures that chaotic?”

“Yeah. But you get used to it after a while. Gloves help too, for the heat. I always wear mine when I’m catching.”

“Didn’t they ever think of making them out of something other than metal? Or at least covering them with an insulator?”

“I don’t know, but I guess if they’re doing it, it’s probably for a good reason.”

“Do you even know how they work?”

“Nope,” Henry said simply. “No one does. For the most part anyway, unless you’re a scientist or something.”

“Who invented them?”

“Some guy. I forgot his name. But you gotta hand it to him, he’s really smart. Being able to fit a whole pokémon into a tiny space is really genius. It’s like condensing matter. Maybe that’s why they get so heavy while the pokémon are inside.”

“Maybe.”

The two boys continued down the path into the city. Up above, the sun was rising out of the clouds, bringing in the full heat of day.




//////



When they returned to the hotel, the courtyard was buzzing.

The crowd was bigger than what Michael had seen the previous day, for some reason. The noise carried a sort of peppy excitement that one would find at a bazaar. Strangely, when he looked around, he saw that few kids were battling. They kept their pokéballs on their belts, talking animatedly.

Somehow, Henry located his friends’ faces in the sea of bodies. The familiar faces of Martha, Cindy, and Kyle waved to them from the flagpole, where the population was thickest. Michael and Henry went over to them, pushing past the others.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Henry said. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, something’s going on all right!” Kyle smiled. “Leroy’s set up a trading booth! He’s giving away his pokémon.”

“Who’s Leroy?” Michael said.

“He’s this kid who’s been here a while. He’s not a trainer, but he goes to the Gym to watch the battles. He carries around this doohickey he calls his PokéDex... I don’t know how he got all those pokémon, but he seems pretty cool about giving them away. He gave me a Starly.”

“I got a Bidoof,” Martha said.

“Wait... hey, that’s the kid we helped! Remember, Michael? In the Pokémon Center!” Henry said.

“Yeah. So he stays here?”

“I guess so. Let’s go talk to him.”

They made their way to the front of the crowd. A line had assembled around the benches, and Leroy sat in one of them. His PokéDex was strapped to his trousers, and he had a bag of pokéballs sitting beside him.

When he saw Michael and Henry, his smile brightened.

“Hey, it’s you! How’ve you been?”

“We’ve been great!” Henry said. “We were in Route 207 catching pokémon. Your pokémon data has helped us loads!”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Leroy tapped the bag. “Want one? I have a Machop, Buneary, Goldeen, Zubat, and a Shinx. I caught them for my Dex, but now I really don’t need them anymore.”

Michael’s shoulders sagged. “Are you kidding me? I go out and spend my own money to catch a Machop, and it turns out I could have gotten an hour more of sleep and still have gotten one for free?”

Henry giggled. “Sorry about that.”

Leroy shrugged. “Well, next time you’ll know where to find me. Heh. So, you want anything?”

“Yeah... we’ll get the Goldeen,” Michael said. “Water’s a good counter for rock.”

Leroy took out a pokéball and handed it to Michael. A paper label was taped to it, displaying the pokémon’s name. “Anything else? Don’t be shy, I have a lot more.”

Henry rubbed his chin. “Ummm, do you have any more water types?”

“Let’s see...” He searched through the bag and came out with a pokéball labeled ‘Magikarp’. “You want him? He knows a few water moves.”

“Sure.” Henry took the pokéball and placed it into his knapsack.

“Well, it’s been nice doing business with you. What do you guys mean by counters, though? Are you planning for the battle or something?”

“No, I came up with a formula on how to beat the Gym,” Michael said. “Basically I found the type weaknesses to each of Byron’s pokémon, so now I’m trying to make a team that will go perfectly against his. It’s foolproof! I keep a chart, so that way when I discover a new weakness, I’ll have a place to record it.”

Leroy nodded. “Wow, that’s creative. I’ve never heard anyone do it that way before. Mostly, I see people come in and just do it all-out, hit him with whatever they’ve got. But you know what’s weird? People with some types of pokémon usually lose more often than others.”

“Yep, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You know, I think that this would be really useful for the PokéDex. If my machine had this, my life would be ten times easier!”

“Then make a suggestion to the professor.”

“Yeah, I think I will. When I get done with this, at least. I’m almost to forty entries.” Leroy tapped his PokéDex proudly. “Well, see you around.”

“See ya,” Henry said.

They stepped off to the side, and Leroy called “Next!”

Sebastian stepped forward. He nodded to Leroy. “Hey dude.”

“Hey Sebastian. How goes it?”

“Pretty good. You must be proud of yourself; people are talking about you all over the courtyard!”

“It’s nice to be famous.” Leroy grinned. “So, anything in particular you want?”

“I overheard you and Michael talking about counters and stuff. I think that’s a pretty cool idea. You don’t mind if I try it out, do you?” He turned to Michael, who shook his head.

“Not at all. Go for it, see if it works for you.”

“Cool.” He turned back to Leroy. “Then I’ll get a grass type. Do you have anything like that?”

Leroy fished into the bag. “Let’s see... I have a... Budew? That’s grass.”

“Sure thing. What about water?”

Leroy gave him another Goldeen.

“Can I have a Shinx too? I’ve always wanted one.”

Leroy took out a third pokéball and gave it to Sebastian. He cradled them in his arms.

“Nice doing business with you.”

“You too, Sebastian! Good luck with your battle.”

“Thanks.” He stepped off to the side to meet Henry and Michael. Cindy, Martha, Tony, and Kyle came around to join them.

“Hey Sebastian. What did you get?”

“A Budew, Goldeen, and Shinx. Look out Byron!” He laughed, and the rest of the group joined in. However, a new voice, a new laugh, broke through them. Before Michael could match the voice with the face, he was shoved roughly aside to accommodate a new body into the circle. He stumbled, but regained his footing. Henry, who had been pushed as well, fell silent.

Sebastian’s smile faded. His voice was flat and monotone. “Dennis.”

The boy stepped forward and the circle widened, as if none of its members wanted to come in contact with him. Dennis was still wearing his black sweater, and a lollipop stick was dangling from his mouth like a cigarette. Michael wondered if he had meant it that way.

Dennis waited. “So, none of you are gonna ask me how my battle was?”

Silence. Then, Sebastian spoke. “What, did you lose?”

“Nah, I won. See?” He held up what appeared to be a shiny coin. Before Michael could get a good look at it, it was back inside his pocket. “Byron was so easy. We crushed him flat. You’re planning to do the same, I see.”

“We all are,” Sebastian said. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“Yeah, but people have different ways of achieving their dreams. Some people, like me, work hard at it and keep going until they win. Others, for some strange reason I can’t understand, cheat.”

Clearly, this was not the word he had been expecting. Sebastian eyed Dennis, on the line between uncertainty and hostility. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I couldn’t help but overhear your little friends talk. You, him,” he pointed to Michael, “and Leroy. You do know that what you’re doing is illegal, right?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing illegal about a pokémon trade.”

“Do you even know what a legal trade is, smart one? A trade is when two trainers transfer their pokémon over to each other with a binding agreement, meaning that they sign actual papers and don’t just give them away. Or do you Southern folk really forget things so quickly?” He reached into the other pocket of his sweater and brought up a rumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it, and Michael immediately recognized the brochure he had received at Byron’s gym. He handed it to Sebastian. “Read it and weep.”

Sebastian’s eyes were lost in the paper for a few minutes. If the pamphlet contained groundbreaking information, then he didn’t show it. His expression remained neutral as he looked back up at Dennis. “So? You can’t do anything about it.”

“Wrong! Yes I can. As a matter of fact, I can go to the Gym right now and report you. I’ll get you disqualified before you can even battle. The both of you. And yes, I said both, so that includes you. Sitting and drawing.” He turned his gaze over to Michael. “I saw you watching my battle yesterday. You were just sitting there and drawing. You do know that this is a trainer’s hotel and not an art camp, right?”

“He has a chart!” Henry piped up. “He’s a trainer and he's gonna use it to beat the Gym. He'll have a badge just like you.”

The boy’s grin broadened. “Woooooooooow. You guys are such losers. Is that it right there?”

Michael suddenly realized he was still holding the chart. But before he could grab it back, Dennis had snatched it from his fingers and opened it up. He read it over like a doctor would read a patient’s diagnosis. Michael felt strangely exposed.

“Yep... yep. Wow. Yeah, I think I’ll have to keep this.” He folded the paper again, and began to fold it smaller, tucking it inside his fist. Michael’s arm seemed to act of its own accord. He wrapped his fingers around the boy’s wrist and held on firmly.

"You better not."

"Or what?" he sneered.

"Or I'll kick your fat ass."

The kids around him gasped, loud and deep. The boy stepped back, and Michael let his hand slip away. "Well, that sounds like a threat to me. And you know? I don't care. I'll eliminate some competition today. I'm gonna go straight to the Gym and tell them myself. You, Sebastian, and Leroy will all go home crying-"

Michael took a step forward. "I said fuck off! Mind your own business!"

Dennis didn't seem intimidated. He turned on his heel and began an exaggerated march towards the hotel building.

"La-la-la! Let's see you try and stop me!"

The crowd unquestioningly parted to make way. Hundreds of eyes darted from one boy to the other, waiting for some kind of reaction. At that moment, Michael's entire future flashed before his eyes. This one kid, whoever he was, could ruin everything he was about to work for.

Without a second thought, he lunged forward. His hands curled into claws and latched onto the hood of Dennis’s jacket, pulling him back. The boy staggered, then grabbed Michael’s shoulders to balance himself, digging his fingernails into his skin. They felt like prickly needles. Michael swiveled, but their grip held.

“You’re dead meat!” Dennis snarled.

Several people rushed over to watch what was going on. In a matter of seconds a large crowd had formed around them, all pointing and exclaiming. Michael caught a glimpse of Henry among them. His face was chalk white. Then, out of the blue -

“Fight! Fight!” A boy began to jump, pumping his fist. Others caught on to the chant, and the noise swelled.

“Yeah! Fight! Fight!”

Michael ignored the growing chorus. His eyes were on Dennis, and his arms were trying to pry off the fingers that gripped his shoulders. With surprising speed, Dennis pulled one arm back and swung it against his cheek. The punch was like an electric shock. Michael’s head was knocked sideways by an iron mallet, and he felt the world spin. His head might have swiveled around all the way around and come back, like a Noctowl’s.

If they ever punch you in the head, buddy, just punch ‘em right back. You don’t take hits from anyone.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

The faces blurred, then cleared. He heard a grunt, then realized it was his own. He had fallen to the ground for some reason, and Dennis was kicking him in the shins, the stomach, the arms. The sneaker jabbed into his flesh then drew back, aiming for another. This time, he grabbed the leg blindly and held on, until he felt the boy’s knees buckle. Dennis fell like a great giant, his upper body bouncing off the concrete.

Michael’s head was still spinning as he got on top of the boy and pinned down his arms, trying to remain steady against his flailing. It was a technique Richard had taught him before his first day of middle school, in case he ever needed it.

"You're not going anywhere!" he shouted, drawing his face within inches of the boy's. His voice sounded ferocious and distant.

"Yes I am!" Dennis rocked from side to side, but Michael didn’t budge. "I'll get you disqualified!"

"No!" Michael swung his fist against the boy's clammy cheek, bringing as much force as he could to the blow. He felt something crack beneath his knuckles, and the boy recoiled, screaming. He punched him again on the other side, watching with sick pleasure as the boy's head gave, spinning from side to side, just like his own head must have spun. He punched him again and again, till the blood from the boy's nose had painted his knucklebones.

"You're not saying anything to anyone," Michael said. "Or I'll find you and knock you out cold. You'll look like your opponent's Turtwig when I'm done with you. Got it?" Now, the boy's eyes trembled with fear. Michael could see a large red circle where his fists had struck, and the stream of blood from his nose had advanced down his cheek. He might have been crying blood. Michael jabbed his hand into the boy’s pocket and pulled out his chart.

As a parting gesture, he gathered the last of his mouth’s saliva and spat it into the kid’s face. “You might want to wipe that.” Michael got up and dusted himself off. The ringing in his ears drowned out the sounds of the kids around him, turning them into a pool of warbled confusion.

Michael! Michael!

So they were calling his name now. What, would he be some sort of hero now? He felt a ripple of annoyance. But at the same time, he wanted to know what the pamphlet had said...

Michael!

Leaving the chaos behind him, he stormed off towards the building without another word.

"Michael, wait! Wait!" came Henry's voice. He jogged up to Michael's side, his arms waving. Michael wheeled around to face him, grimacing.

The white had still not left Henry’s face, though it didn’t look as ghastly as it did in the crowd. Henry struggled to form words.

“That was amazing! You totally whooped him! I was really worried there for a second when he punched you, but you did it!”

"You idiot!” Michael’s sudden anger caused Henry to step back. “You just had to open your big mouth and blab about the chart. This is all your fault!"

Henry's smile became panicked as Michael backed towards the door. "I'm sorry! I really am!" he said. "I had no idea what was going to happen! I just thought that because you were prepared and everything you'd win and put him in his place because he really deserved it and we'd get him to stop bothering everyone! I didn't know, I mean why did he say that he'd get you disqualified? Is the chart not allowed or something?"

For a minute, Michael stared at Henry's face. His eyes were pleading. Behind them, Dennis had gotten to his feet, and was now heading back to his friends. The crowd followed, pecking him with laughs. Somewhere among them stood Leroy and Sebastian, both talking rapidly.

"No," Michael finally said, looking Henry in the eye. "It's not illegal. That kid was a dork. It was just an empty threat. People do it all the time to get you scared, but you can't fall for it. You have to stand up for yourself instead of hiding in the corner like a little baby."

“Hey, Michael!” Leroy and the others approached him. “That was intense! My gosh, we thought for sure you’d be a goner! ”

“Thanks for that,” Sebastian said. “I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore. And if he does, we know what to do, right?” He attempted a smile, but it faded quickly.

“What did the pamphlet say?” Michael said.

“Didn’t you get one?”

“I never read it.”

Sebastian looked at him. His eyes were heavy. “Here. You might want to know now.”

Michael looked over the pamphlet in his hands. He opened it up, and through his half-stupor, began reading.

Welcome, trainer, to the 1963 Sinnoh Pokémon League! This is a regionwide competition in which you are given the opportunity to prove your skills and mastery in the art of training pokémon. No matter your gender, no matter your age, you just might be the next big sensation to become one of Sinnoh's Best Top Fifty... and beyond! As a rising trainer, you will travel the region and visit many historic towns and cities, learn about their backgrounds, and have opportunities to take exclusive, informative tours not available to the general public. Not only that, but you will also partake in eight Gym battles, one for every town you visit. For every win, you will receive a silver badge. Keep them safe, because after you have collected all eight, you may advance to the Elite Four. This is a challenge for the qualified trainer only, operating in its own headquarters just off the coast of Sunyshore City. (For more information, see page 2.) The trainer who wins this season's League will receive an unforgettable prize, including a front-cover appearance on 'Trainers Today' magazine and an interview with Sinnoh News Net. Any trainer is eligible to participate, just register with your local Gym!

Below that was a list of rules. Michael’s heart skipped, but he read on.

BASIC RULES & GUIDELINES FOR APPLYING:
- You must be a legal trainer to enter. (You must have received your trainer ID before January 1st of this year. Any trainer cards received after that date will not be accepted.) Birth certificates might be asked for to confirm the information.
- You may not use any pokémon that are not yours, or that were trained by someone else at any point. (Breeders or basic obedience classes not counted.) Proof or certificate of ownership may be asked for.
- Your pokémon must be in good health and have updated vaccinations. You may be asked to present documentation.
- You may not give your pokémon any type of steroid or drug to enhance their performance. These are considered illegal in this competition, and trainers in possession of pokémon under their influence will be immediately disqualified.
- Trainers are encouraged to operate alone, and without assistance from any outside source. This includes, but is not limited to: using another's pokémon before or after battling, 'reserving' or switching battle dates, and using guides of any sort.

Any badges obtained under circumstances that break one or more of these rules are considered void and will not be counted. Offenders are subject to be banned from the next season’s League, and will be fined for up to $1,000. Please note that any non-trainer who might be involved in rule-breaking, which includes but is not limited to direct assistance, will also be penalized.

These rules are subject to change at any time. For more information, call the hotline at (806) 661-9267 or visit your local Gym for more details.

Good luck, trainers of 1963!!!

As Michael closed the pamphlet, he felt a jolt run down his spine. He had broken three of the five rules listed, and he hadn't even battled yet. All it would take was an attentive eye and a quick search through his papers for him to be caught, and most likely banned. Michael blinked slowly, his ears still buzzing. He looked over to Henry, who had not moved an inch, then at the other sympathetic faces that surrounded him.

“So, he was right.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said solemnly. “But it’s not all bad. We’ll just give back all our pokémon to Leroy, and that way if Dennis does go to the authorities, he won’t have anything to back himself up.”

Michael remained still. He found himself stepping backwards, away from them. The trainers frowned. Michael was suddenly stricken by an urge to escape. To run away. To hide. Michael turned and ran off, hobbling to the building as fast as his backpack would allow.

“Hey, wait!” Henry's footsteps pounded after him again. “Where are you going?”

“Back inside.”

“Why? Aren’t you gonna return your pokémon?”

“No. Later,” Michael lied.

He went back inside, found their room, and unlocked it, all with a strange desperation. He dropped his backpack by the door and went to the bathroom, eager to get the blood off his hands. Henry followed him in.

“What did the brochure say, though? I didn’t get to see it. What are the rules?”

“You have your own,” he said.

“Yeah, but I forgot! I didn’t really read it, just like you!”

“Then read it now. It’s on the table.” Michael finished, turned the faucet off, and dried his hands. He went back into the room and lay down on his bed. Henry followed him there too, and stood in front of him.

“Just tell me. I need to know. Is the chart allowed?”

“Yes it is.”

“But what do the rules say?”

“Read them!”

“But-“

“I told you already, they’re on the table! Are you just so helpless without your mommy that you can't act for yourself? Use your own goddamn eyes!”

“Fine! Just-“

“What now?”

Henry sighed. “You’ve had a hell of a day, I get it! And you’re angry, that’s fine too. At least let me get you some water!”

Michael paused, looking at Henry’s face. The small kindness seemed to offset his annoyance. He nodded. Henry walked out of view, going to the other side of the room which he couldn't see. Michael heard a clink, and the pouring of water from somewhere - a water bottle? - and he was handed the glass. Michael took a few sips, letting the cool wash around his mouth, his throat, then handed it back. The buzzing subsided a little.

“Good. If you want any more, it’s on the nightstand.”

Michael nodded in thanks, and closed his eyes.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ November 2nd, 2010 12:39 AM

Quote:

displaying shiny metal goodies
I'd use a different word, like "items" or "products" considering that this is in the narration.

Quote:

“I got a Bidoof,” Martha said.
Looks like someone got ripped off, lol

Quote:

He searched through the bag and came out with a pokéball labeled ‘Magikarp’. “You want him? He knows a few water moves.”

“Sure.” Henry took the pokéball and placed it into his knapsack.
Looks like somebody else got ripped off, lol

Interesting capture there, not pitting Pokemon against Pokemon :) I guess this is how they used to do it in the old days? Because Henry said he had caught a few Pokemon yet he didn't tell Michael anything about having to battle and weaken the target Pokemon (with another Pokemon) for capture. I'm perfectly fine with this; just another example of how training Pokemon has changed over the years.

And I liked how you were able to handle the whole "loaner" Pokemon thing. The idea of Leroy unloading Pokemon already in his Pokedex makes a whole lot more sense than any of the ideas we came up with during that one chat :P

And oh, the irony:
Quote:

and we need to battle at least once before tomorrow.
Michael did battle, but it was a fistfight with that kid Dennis, lol. And he really did a number on him,

Although... that second rule might need to be changed based on the fact that (at least according to Dennis) there ARE legal trades:
Quote:

Do you even know what a legal trade is, smart one? A trade is when two trainers transfer their pokémon over to each other with a binding agreement, meaning that they sign actual papers and don’t just give them away.
But wow. It seems like those rules really hit Michael hard. Somehow he's got to convince every single Gym Leader and League official that they don't need to check his credentials or paperwork. Or he can claim that his Stunky ate them. Wonder if they'll buy that excuse, lol?

And every chapter, I can't help but notice that there's a bit of my trainer character Lisa in both Henry and Michael - the analyzing, calculating side of Michael and the wealthy, lacking confidence in Pokemon side of Henry. Though I don't think she'd survive five minutes in 1960's Sinnoh xD

Good chapter once again. Now Michael has to start planning for a lot more than the upcoming battle. He's got to plan how he's going to skirt around the rules that would most definitely get him disqualified. I think that's an especially interesting dilemma that you've created for Michael, and I am most definitely looking forward to seeing how he's going to handle it, because it's something he's going to have to deal with every step of the way.

Yuoaman November 13th, 2010 12:50 AM

I'm really enjoying the direction you're taking with the plot here, it shows us that there are consequences for Michael's actions. I do see one potential plot hole however... Bronzor is a dual Steel/Psychic type, Machop won't be able to help in that match much.

Haruka of Hoenn November 13th, 2010 7:47 AM

LeSabre:
Henry's Magikarp won't be totally useless. That would be a waste of words. I'll have it know a few water moves, but of course it won't be mega powerful or anything.

And you're correct, there are legal trades, but the process is more intricate than just handing pokemon over. I explained this to another member on a different forum, so I might as well do it here:

Legal trades are like handing over the rights to a house. Trainers hand over the rights of ownership of their pokemon to each other. This is only required by the pokemon League since - recall from the pamphlet - it only recognizes trainers whose pokemon are legally owned by them. A simple trade won't cut it, and would be counted as using someone else's pokemon illegally.


Yuoaman:
I can see how that might be a plot hole, but for the way I'm planning the battle, it won't be too big of a problem. Michael is basically taking all he knows from what Leroy's PokeDex has told him, so his knowledge will be limited as Leroy's is.


Glad you're both enjoying the story! Reviews are always appreciated :)

Haruka of Hoenn December 4th, 2010 10:36 AM

All right, after thinking a bit on this one, I decided to include two battles, not one. You'll be seeing Michael battle, then Henry's, with a tiny little transition scene in between to tie everything together. I decided this would be best, instead of spreading the battles out across two chapters which would have taken forever. The result is lengthy, but I hope it'll be worth the reading.


Enjoy 10 everyone!



1.0

In its article, “The Art of Pokémon Battles”, the Pokémon League Weekly magazine defines a pokémon battle as a competition between two trainers, in which their pokémon wrestle each other in an attempt to assert dominance. The practice dates back to prehistoric times, when early hominids let loose their herds on each other to compete for land with other tribes. A pokémon’s nature is to defend its territory, and humans learned to control this instinct and use it to their benefit. To help hunt non-elemental pokémon, they used the help of elemental pokémon, such as the notorious Poison type, to immobilize their prey and quickly kill them. When the first settled civilizations appeared, and hominids utilized the concept of farming, they tamed pokémon and trained them to help plant, plow, and harvest. Later on, each city kept a herd of elemental pokémon, as well as a human army, in preparation for attacks. Groups of pokémon would be paired with a single trainer, whose command they were trained to obey without question. It is this rigid system of discipline, as well as selective breeding, that paved the way for pokémon domestication. Moving closer to modern times, when technology and science rose to prominence, pokémon battles became more of a sporting activity than an act of war. Pokémon Rights movements have hindered its growth, but with the help of recent inventions such as the pokéball and the Automatic Heat Therapy System, battling is on the way to becoming a more humane and efficient practice. Modern trainers can use it for anything from resolving minor conflicts to self-defense. Some have devoted their entire lives to mapping strategies and mechanics of battling, and it is thanks to them that battling enjoys such a worldwide success.

The magazine also lists six basic pointers trainers should consider when they are facing a battle:

1) Speak firmly and concisely, making eye contact with your pokémon.
2) If there are markings that define your battlefield, stand outside the white lines at all times. If there are none, maintain a distance of at least ten feet between you and the battlers. If battling indoors, make sure that there are no fragile or otherwise dangerous objects around you.
3) If battling at night, keep the space illuminated.
4) Trainers may not provide any physical assistance to their pokémon, aside from helping them up when they are seriously injured. Verbal assistance is encouraged.
5) When your pokémon exhibits a sudden weakness and collapses, keeping still for more than five seconds, it is considered fainted and unable to battle. Trainers in this situation should immediately call them back inside their pokéballs and, if applicable, send out their next pokémon.
6) The trainer who is the first to knock out all of their opponent’s pokémon, while having at least one able party member either on hand or on field, wins the battle. A tie is called when both trainers are battling with their last pokémon, and have both faint at the same time. In this case, the match has no winner. In an official Gym battle, the distribution of the badge will be at the leader’s own discretion.

//////



That Tuesday morning, at exactly 8:54 a.m., Michael stood in a large, rectangular room. It had a dirt floor and blank, heavy walls, the equivalent of some sort of dungeon. The early light peeked in through tiny windows lined up near the ceiling, and though they were too high up for anyone to look inside, Michael felt strangely exposed. Against the opposite wall stood Byron, now in what Michael guessed to be his battle attire. A white cape had been added to the back of his scruffy polo shirt, and he wore thick gloves on both hands. One of them held a pokéball.

As for him, his backpack had been left with Henry, who was now giving him a silent thumbs-up from the sidelines. He had let Michael borrow his knapsack for the battle, as well as a pair of winter mittens (they didn’t have time to go to the store to get real gloves) to cushion his still-aching palms. Michael might have thanked him, but for some reason, wearing Henry’s things made him feel more like Henry himself. Which wasn’t good.


Michael gritted his teeth. Not cool. Focus.


Byron was rolling the pokéball between his palms now, like a master card dealer brandishing his deck. He spoke in a deep, tight voice, a phrase he had probably repeated to every trainer that stood before him.

“Michael Rowan. Welcome to the Oreburgh Gym, and to the Pokémon League. Winning this match will earn you the Coal Badge and eligibility for the second Gym in Eterna City. The battle we will have today will be a single battle, no more than one pokémon per trainer on the field at once. The first trainer to defeat all of their opponent’s pokémon will be declared the winner. Do you understand these guidelines as I have dictated them to you?”

God, he sounded like a test paper. “Yes,” Michael said.

Byron flipped the cape back over his shoulder. “Well then, trainer! Send out your first pokémon!” In one fluid motion, he twisted the knob and tossed the pokéball up into the air. It split open, giving way to a small nova of white light. A Geodude, no bigger than a small boulder, landed on the floor while the rest of the light fled back into the capsule. Its face was chiseled with scars. It was bulkier than Kyle’s had been, but Michael figured that the bigger they were, the harder they fell.

The Geodude began rolling back and forth in the dirt, holding its massive arms high above its body. Michael took out a pokéball of his own and twisted it open.

Ever since he had made his first capture, he had developed an instinct to point the pokéball away from his face, even though the light wasn’t as bad and the heat had definitely lessened. The Machop he had caught appeared from the beam. It landed facing its opponent, flexing its arms in what might have been a yawn. It did not flinch at the sight of Michael now; clearly, something in the pokéball had caused it to recognize its new master.

"Gooooooo Michael!" Henry wailed in the background. "You can do it!" Michael rolled his eyes.

A cheerleader in the making, he thought. Meanwhile, Byron stepped forward into the boundary line. A smile was growing on his face.

“The battlers are out, now let’s get this started!” He pointed to the Geodude. “All right little buddy, use Rollout!”

The pokémon clapped its arms and launched itself forward into a rapid roll, kicking up dirt like a car tire. Michael curled his hands into fists, wincing at the dry rub of wool against his palms. “Machop, use Focus Punch.”

The Machop seemed to understand. It shuffled back and forth, its fists raised against its face like a karate fighter’s. It threw a heavy punch at the oncoming Geodude, and hit it back like a baseball. The Geodude was thrust backwards several feet, but instead of spiraling off with cries of pain, it quickly regained its balance and kept right on rolling.

What?! A second later, Michael slapped his forehead. Of course. He expected this.

The Machop seemed just as surprised as the trainer. Apparently, in its own little world of green grass and bright flowers, it had been the big bad. Now, when it saw the Geodude retaliate, it jumped swiftly to the side to avoid it. The Machop’s feet breezed over the ground, then it thudded over by the white line, scattering tiny pebbles. The Geodude, still spinning, turned right around after it.

“Come on!” Michael shouted. “Stop running and hit it! Yes, I’m talking to you!” Michael answered the Machop’s confused look with a snap. It rose to its feet, one side of its body smeared brown. It punched the Geodude again, and this time, the pokémon broke out of its ball form and landed back with both arms splayed.

“All right, Geodude, use Rock Tomb!” came Byron’s next command.

The Geodude clenched its fists, and for a second, Michael thought he could see a network of little tiny veins bulge out from its skin. Suddenly, the rock rippled in spikes, new growths bursting forth from underneath like horns. They thickened and sharpened, until Geodude resembled the head of a mace.

“Launch!”

In a split second, the spikes shot towards the Machop like bullets. They landed straight into the dirt, encircling the Machop in a sort of cage, then began to grow rapidly. The spears grew thicker and taller, until they encased it up to the neck.

At that point, Michael realized that his mouth had been hanging open. He quickly shook himself awake, looking first to Byron. He wasn’t paying attention - he was too busy watching as the rocky cage constricted Machop’s body. The pokémon had craned its neck back against the strain, and its big eyes were shaking.

“Get out of it!” Michael urged. “Come on!”

Byron was smiling again. “Geodude, finish it off! Use Mach Punch!”

Michael didn’t know the move, but it sure as hell didn’t sound good. He turned over to the Machop, but it didn’t seem to be fighting back. It was squirming against the rocky prison, eyes darting from Michael’s face to the Geodude’s nasty grimace. It looked ready to squeal.

The Geodude was flexing its arms and rolling back-and-forth, clearly getting ready for something big. Michael let out a groan.

He stepped forward and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Come on already! Don’t just stand there and let your ass be kicked! Get angry!”

At this, the Machop looked up. Something glazed over its eyes for a moment, and a muscle in its neck twitched.

“That’s right!” Michael continued. “You heard me! Wimp!”

The Machop snarled, baring gleaming teeth. It shook harder, and this time, one of the spears cracked. It wriggled one arm free, then the other. With a snarl, it kicked away the rock, chipping the spears away one by one and letting the fragments fall to the ground.

From his seat at the sidelines, Henry covered his mouth with his hand. Michael kept yelling.

“Lazy! My gramma has more muscle than you ever will! Show me what you got already!”

The Machop pushed the remainder of the rock away, and landed on all fours on free ground. The Geodude had begun to swing its fist. With a grunt, it shot forward towards the Machop.

Michael took a deep breath. “All right, now use -” But before he could finish the command, he was cut off by a loud bellow.

The Machop’s face had turned an ugly red, and its eyes danced with fire. It let out a bellow that shook the empty walls.


“RAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”


It grabbed one of the spears behind it and leaped forward. It swung the rock like a club, hammering it right into the path of the rolling ball.


“CHOP!”


The ground rippled like water. The vibrations threw Geodude into the air, then back down.

“Geodude, hang in there!” Byron called. “Use -”

The sentence was left unfinished. Machop swung the spear, hitting the Geodude off towards the wall, where it crashed just below the windows. Machop did not wait for it to fall. The pokémon raced after it and the club struck again, throwing the Geodude towards the sidelines. Henry dove out of the way just as it hit the benches.

“Whoa!”

The benches shook with Geodude’s bounce, then the pokémon landed on the ground. The Machop met it there, and ignoring Henry, brought the club down straight into the Geodude’s face. Rock gave beneath rock, eliciting a crack. Michael flinched as the club was brought away. The Geodude’s eyes were now closed, and its powerful arms hung limp.

The Machop lifted the club to strike again, but Byron threw up his hands.

“All right, all right, that’ll do. Return, Geodude.” The pokéball’s white light was reflected in Machop’s eyes. It watched the Geodude go almost sadly.

Byron pocketed the pokéball and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Well that’s something you don’t see every day! Good work, Geodude. Good work.” He swapped the pokéball for a second. “Go, Onix!”

Out from the second pokéball came what looked like a giant caterpillar, only its body was made entirely from boulders. A horn protruded from its head, and underneath it were large, glaring eyes. The room could barely accommodate its height, and the pokémon had to crane its neck down to see them.

“Go get ‘em, Michael!” Henry shouted. “Yeeeaah! Do it!”

Byron was hidden behind the pokémon’s massive body, though Michael could still hear his voice, “Onix, use Iron Tail!”

“Club him, Machop!”

Machop was two steps ahead of him. It ran forward and hit the Onix’s tail, growling and muttering. The creature’s great eyes narrowed in pain, and it let out a drawling howl. The head turned towards the nuisance, and the Machop swung again, this time higher up. The Onix flinched, arching its body. The Machop began to climb the Onix’s back, using the gaps in the vertebrae as handholds. It brought the club down onto the back of the Onix’s head.

“No, Onix! Shake him off with Screech!”

The Machop kept clubbing, nearly too fast for Michael’s eyes to follow. Head, back, cheek, all with an endless rage. The Onix began to sway, its eyes spaced and unfocused. Machop hammered the club onto its head a final time, and the Onix drooped, falling limply to the ground.

The Machop continued hammering, and Onix opened its mouth in a giant yawn. All of a sudden, a flat, hair-raising scrape emerged from its throat, wailing through the room with staggering magnitude. Michael doubled over, clamping his mittens against his ears to silence it. It was perhaps the most horrifying thing he had ever heard, and he never could have guessed that such a giant creature could make such a sound. Even Byron had gritted his teeth. The Machop’s body was quaking, and a drop of bubbling saliva oozed from its mouth. Its hands tight around the club, the pokémon launched into a crazy mess of blows, high and low, trying to find an off-button. Finally, Onix’s cries faltered, and the voice cracked and died. The pokémon’s eyes fell shut.

“Well that’s something you don’t see every day!” Byron’s head poked out from behind. “I must say, you have a very unique Machop.” The giant body faded to white, then fled back into the pokéball.

Michael heard his heart thump. Two down, one to go.

“You have done well so far, trainer,” Byron said. “However, you haven’t gotten rid of me just yet. There is one more pokémon you have to beat.” He took out a third pokéball and took a moment to caress it lovingly. “My father gave him to me. And he’s not going down that easily! Go, Bronzor!”

A strip of blue metal with eyes emerged from the pokéball. At first Michael thought it was going to fall to the floor and shatter, but then the pokémon floated up and began to hover above their heads, casting little diamonds of light onto the walls. It was so thin, it seemed to vanish as it twisted. The only thing that stayed the same were its eyes - tiny and yellow, they seemed to be staring right into him.

A little gasp of wonder escaped Henry’s lips. “Whoa! It gets me every time! Isn’t it awesome, Michael?”

At first, Michael didn’t see what the big deal was. But as he stared at the rotating slide, he suddenly remembered Leroy’s words. Uses a lot of non-physical attacks that can confuse the opponent. Whatever that meant.

“Are you ready, Michael Rowan? Let’s finish this! Bronzor, use Confuse Ray!”

Michael took a breath. “Club him, Machop!”

The Machop looked up, seemed ready to leap, but all of a sudden it was seized by a convulsion that brought it down to its knees. The club clattered to the ground and it heaved over, muttering to itself incoherently.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” Michael said. “Get up!”

The Machop shook its head, eyes swimming. It probed around for the club, and took it back into its hands hesitantly.

“That’s it. That’s it. Now see that metal thing up in the sky? Hit it!”

The Machop stood for a moment, staring up at the Bronzor. It lifted the club, but instead of aiming it forward, it brought it down onto its own head. Machop let out a cry, teetered, and fell on its butt. Henry looked at Michael gravely, and shook his head.

“Come on, Machop, you ditz! Hit the opponent, not you!”

Machop lifted the club again and whacked itself furiously, squealing and snarling at the same time.

“No! Not you, hit the - oh, just hit the stupid Bronzor already! The Bronzor! The thing up there!” Michael pointed up at the Bronzor, but every time he did, the Machop whacked itself atop the head once more, convinced that it was the enemy instead.

Byron stood and watched.

“Come on! Idiot!” Michael yanked at his hair as Machop continued to wrestle with itself. It dropped the club in a drunken daze, and began to punch the air. Michael slapped his forehead.

The Machop managed a few more punches, three to its own face, then with a final sigh, collapsed in a heap. Michael looked at it grimly.

“Fine.” He called it back inside without another word. He placed the pokéball into the knapsack and swapped it with the Turtwig’s.

In another flash, the Turtwig materialized on the floor. It looked straight ahead at first, expectantly, then slowly lifted its eyes to where the Bronzor was.

“Strike it down,” Michael said. “With the leaves. Then stomp on it. Got that?”

The Turtwig looked back at him. Byron pointed up to his pokémon.

“Bronzor, use Psychic!”

“Now, Turtwig!”

The Turtwig tossed its head back and sent a flurry of leaves up into the air. The Bronzor did not retaliate, but remained still with its eyes wandering as the leaves slid past its body and rained back down.

No effect.

Michael was speechless. Of course leaves wouldn’t affect metal. They were leaves.

A pink glow lit up Bronzor’s eyes, and Michael looked up. He did not see the attack strike - all he saw was the flick of light as Bronzor descended, and the wince of his Turtwig as it collapsed. The Turtwig fought an invisible force for a while, shuddering and spitting, before going still.

“That’s it?” Michael said. He went over to his Turtwig and nudged it with his foot. “Come on, get up!” He turned it over onto its back, but it didn’t move.

“If it’s five seconds, it’s fainted,” Byron said. “Sorry.” He didn’t seem too sorry, though, as he watched Michael call the Turtwig back. He swapped the pokéball for his last one - the Goldeen. He had removed the label the previous day, against his better judgment, deciding that he would need every pokémon he could get.

The Goldeen emerged from the white gracefully, and landed on its belly in the rock. Michael had read about them before (which was actually him leafing through the pages of his textbook when he was bored in class), and he knew one or two of their most basic moves. He had gone over his strategy the night before, and if things would go according to plan, he would only need two.

“Goldeen, use Supersonic.”

“Bronzor, Confuse Ray!”

The two attacks hit silently, and simultaneously. Goldeen emitted invisible waves from its horn that penetrated Bronzor, working through millions of nerve cells and weakening their connections. In turn, Bronzor had taken control of Goldeen’s mind, causing the pokémon to lose awareness and stumble over its own fins.

The Bronzor’s eyes grew blank, and it dipped dangerously near the ground. Goldeen began to flail, as its air-adjusting gills narrowed.

“Hey fish, listen to me!” Michael said. He stepped closer to the Goldeen. “There’s an enemy inside you. Kill it. Use Horn Attack on yourself! You are the enemy! Got it?”

The Goldeen struggled back onto its belly. The Bronzor had fallen to the ground as well, and was flipping over like a leaf.

“Bronzor, don’t lose control! Use Psychic!”

“Go!” Michael snapped, and the Goldeen brought the Bronzor into focus. The theory was that if confusion reversed the pokémon’s understanding of its trainer’s commands, if the trainer told it to attack itself, the pokémon would attack the other pokémon on the field with it - the opponent.

Of course, it was only a theory.

The Goldeen dragged itself over to the Bronzor and pointed its horn at the blue body.

That’s it, Michael thought. He was down on his knees now, watching intently. Henry was sitting forward.

The Goldeen thrust its horn into the Bronzor’s face, with a force that should have made the pokémon shatter. Bronzor let out a muffled squeal through a mouth that wasn’t there, and the Goldeen lunged forward again. It butted its head, tossing the Bronzor over and over like a piece of scrap metal.

Finally, the yellow eyes closed. Michael’s hear skipped a beat.

“Yeeeeeaaaaaaahh!” Henry stood to clap. “You won! Michael won!”

Byron sent the Bronzor back into the pokéball, and dusted off his cape. He approached Michael and held out a gloved hand.

“Well done, trainer. You truly deserve the Coal Badge.” They shook hands. When Michael drew back, it was in his palm. A round, coin-like object. It was bordered by silver, and the rest of it was a deep brown. When he held it up to the light, it shimmered like Bronzor’s skin.

"Do you have a badge case?" Byron asked.

Michael shook his head.

"Well, you should get one. They're not too expensive, and they'll protect your badges from dust." He winked, then his expression took on a seriousness. "I'm afraid that it will only get harder from here, Michael. You’ve beaten the Oreburgh Gym, and the next challenge awaits you in Eterna City. It’s a small Gym, but the trainers there have even more skill and power than I do. I trust that in your future battles, you will maintain the honor, determination, and tactics that I saw today."

Michael nodded. “Thanks. I will.”

“My only advice to you would be to act quicker next time. Don’t stand there waiting for me to give my pokémon a command. You want to catch your opponent off-guard. You passed up a lot of good opportunities to take my team down, but thanks to your skill, you more than made up for it.”

Henry came to his side and held up his hand for a high-five. Michael gave it to him, and Henry smiled.

“Great battle! No, really, that was amazing!”

“You have a unique team, Michael,” Byron said. “I hope you will take it to good places in the future. And you,” he turned to Henry, “I will see tomorrow for our battle.”

“That’s right!” Henry said.

Michael began to step back, but Byron held up a hand. “Wait. One more thing. For all your troubles.” Byron withdrew a fat wallet from his pocket and removed several crisp bills. He placed them into Michael's hands.

Michael slowly pocketed the money, and instantly, he could feel its familiar weight against his side - light, but heavy at the same time. Truly the best feeling in the world.

"T-thanks," he managed.

Byron bowed his head. "Good luck."



//////



When they were outside, Henry immediately pulled Michael over to a bench and sat down next to him.

"All right, let's see it! Show me the badge!"

Michael opened his hand, and let the sunlight catch the Coal Badge. Henry's eyes reflected its glimmers.

"Can... can I hold it?" He looked up, a bit uncertainly.

"Sure."

"Wow, thanks!" Henry carefully took the badge into his hands and held it up to the light. His hands were shaking. "I can't believe it... I've never actually held one before... Thanks." He handed it back to Michael, who instantly began laughing.

"Man, this is amazing! I'm already off to a good start, and look, look how much money I got!" He lifted the money from his pocket and rushed to count it. The result made him sputter. "Fifteen dollars! I can't believe it! Fifteen whole dollars, right here, in my hand!" He looked over to Henry and sighed. "Life is good."

Henry returned it, though at a lesser degree. He looked back down at the badge, his expression longing. "Yeah, I guess," he murmured absently.

"What's wrong with you?" Michael said. "Did you stub your toe or something?"

"No, I'm really happy for you. Honest."

"You don't sound too happy."

Henry sulked, and let out a sigh. "I don’t know...”

"Spit it out."

“It’s just that you did so amazing. And I can’t battle like that, you know? I'll probably lose again, just like last time. I told you, I'm a terrible trainer! I'm not good enough for the Coal badge, but for some reason, everyone else in my life is."

"Don't be a candyass. Your rematch is tomorrow."

"It won't be the same," Henry said quietly, with finality.

Michael rolled his eyes. He looked over the badge in his hands, watching as the metal patterns appeared and disappeared with the light's tilt. "I get the fact that Gyms give money, but seriously, what’s the deal with the badge? Why are you so obsessed with it? Does it make you famous or something?"

"No, it's just an honor. Money gets spent, but badges are a permanent memory of what you did. No one will take a trainer seriously if they don't have any badges. It's proof that you have skills and experience. This kid I know always used to get picked on, just like me. But then he got some badges, and now no one bothers him." Henry reached into his tote bag for what looked like a giant ring box, and flipped it over and over in his hands. "My mom bought me a case to hold them all. But I'll probably never get any."

"Big deal," Michael said. "I didn't have any badges when I was in school, and no one ever picked on me. A lot of people I knew didn’t have any badges, but they were fine. It's all about how you carry yourself. If you need some stupid piece of metal to feel cool, then you'll always be a wimp."

Henry sighed. "And that's what I like about you. You don't care what anyone thinks. I can't do that."

"Stop whining. I didn’t just win on luck, you know. I prepared. And I’ll help you prepare too. Remember your battle the other day?”

“Yeah,” Henry propped his chin on his hands.

“I took notes on it. And I have exactly what you need to know to win the match. You have a pretty good team for him, now all you have to do is use it.”

Henry looked over to Michael. “So you have a strategy for me?”

“Yep.”

And Michael told him.



//////


Day two.


It was Michael’s turn to sit out this time, for Henry was on the field now, staring ahead at Byron with as much determination as he could feign to mask his nervousness.

The Henry gang (that’s what Michael had now come to know them as) sat beside him - Sebastian, Kyle, Tony, Martha, and Cindy. They looked to Henry with encouraging smiles, but the boy wasn’t paying attention to any of them. His eyes were fixed directly on Byron, and behind them, Michael could see a raging battle of focus trying to win over fear. His fist curled and uncurled around the hem of his shirt.

Byron himself stood in his usual spot, looking as if it were just another day at the office. Any fear that Michael might have had for Byron in the few seconds before they had battled were long gone now, and he was able to see the man as he was. Yet, by the way Henry looked at him, you’d have thought that he was the President.

“Henry McPherson, are you ready for your rematch?” Byron said.

Henry nodded stiffly. “Yes.” His eyes flicked over to the sidelines and briefly locked with Michael’s. Michael gave a single nod.


He had told Henry the strategy the previous day. The plan was simple: Burmy would be the leader, since its grass moves could be used to overwhelm Geodude and bring down Onix. If it fainted early, then he could back it up with his Magikarp, proving that it wouldn’t be a useless flop on land. Clefairy was another good asset, due to its fighting moves, in case both Burmy and Magikarp fell.

As for Bronzor, the kid would just have to fend for himself.

Michael had told Henry to leave the Pachirisu at the hotel, since it was an electric type and probably wouldn’t last a single minute. But Henry had insisted on packing it anyway, just in case.

Michael watched as Henry twisted open his first pokéball. The strange withered body of Burmy landed upon the sand, and immediately sucked up a small cloak of dirt to hide all but the yellow eyes. The cocoon stood upright, and Henry’s friends clapped.

“Yeah, go Henry!” Cindy shouted.

Byron uncapped his pokéball and released his Geodude. The pokémon was fully healed from the previous day, and looked even more battle-ready than before.

“All right, Geodude, let’s get this started! Use Rock Throw!”

Geodude lifted its arms, and at an invisible command, two boulders sprouted from the ground like plants. They grew from flat sand, spilling chunks around them, and landed into Geodude’s palms.

Henry didn’t wait. “Burmy, use Razor Leaf!” For a second, the pokémon’s dirt cloak peeled back to expose a green underlayer of leaves. As the rocks were thrown, the leaves fell upwards and whipped through the air around Burmy’s head, shooting forward in an angry cluster.

The leaves tore through the air like razors. The rocks shot through the cloud, but instead of coming out the other way, the leaves diced them into dust, letting the crumbs sprinkle down. The rest of the leaves clawed their way towards Geodude, who rolled swiftly to the side in time to evade them. The leaves hit the wall and slithered down.

Geodude continued to roll towards the Burmy, now having gained balance and speed. Henry gave his next command.

“Burmy, use Protect!”

The pokémon’s cloak began to thicken, drawing more sand from the ground, letting it seep over his eyes and nose and smooth the curves of his body. The Geodude didn’t seem deterred. It began to roll faster, hoping to knock Burmy down like a bowling pin.

“Knock it down, Geodude!” came Byron’s shout.

But the Geodude might as well have tried to move a wall.

The Burmy’s coat had thickened to almost concrete, and when the soft rock of Geodude’s head-body collided with it, it bounced back like a ping pong ball. Geodude was thrown back through the dirt, arms flopping and flailing, and collapsed facedown.

“Finish it off!” Henry cried. “Use Razor Leaf!”

Burmy shed its cloak in a heartbeat. The leaves were back again, swirling through the air and raining down on the Geodude’s body. The pelts left deep indentations in the rock, crisscrossing around Geodude’s eyes and arms. The wind When the leaves had exhausted their purpose, Geodude lay still on the ground.

“Yay! Go Henry! Woooooo!” the kids on the sidelines erupted in applause. Michael nodded again as Byron called the fainted pokémon back. Check one.

“Very good, Henry. I’m glad you see you’ve improved on your strategy since our last battle. You used Razor Leaf instead of Tackle.” Byron took out his next pokéball. No one noticed Michael’s sudden smile.

“Let’s hope you can keep it up! Go, Onix!”

The towering beast unfurled from the light, landing in front of its trainer with a colossal thud. Henry stepped back as if to accommodate the giant. The Onix drew itself up to its fullest height, well over five meters, and peered down at Henry with bulbous white eyes. Standing in its shadow, the Burmy seemed tiny and insignificant.

Henry sucked in a breath. “All right little buddy, Razor Leaf!”

“Onix, Iron Tail!”

The Onix lifted its tail like a giant club. Instantly, the rocks underwent a dramatic transformation, turning from pale gray to a lustrous, polished silver. They were raised the tail against the oncoming leaves. Instead of cutting through the rock, as Henry expected them to, the leaves slid off with no greater effect than if they had hit a windshield.

The tail was brought down onto the ground, tossing Burmy to the side. Burmy flipped over and over, landing on his back.

“No!” Henry said. “The face! Aim for the face, Burmy!”

In the split second that he had said this, Onix’s tail swept the field again. Before his Burmy had time to get to his feet, he vanished behind a cloud of dirt. Henry saw the leaves tear through the cloud and hit Onix’s face. They scraped the naked rock, making the great beast stumble.

“Yes! Keep going, keep going!” Henry smiled. More tufts of leaves spurted from Burmy’s cloak, slapping Onix’s face repeatedly from side to side.

“Now finish it off!” he blurted. “Give it a really good one!”

Onix was swaying to and fro, slowly sinking under the force of the gusts. The final leaves met the top of its head and pushed it down, finishing the job. Onix toppled, its mouth lolling -

“Burmy, get out of the way!”

- right onto the ground. Burmy was hidden behind the massive body in a giant roll of dust, and any cry it might have let out was instantly muffled by the crash. Henry bit his lip.

“Burmy, are you there?”

No answer. Byron stepped forward and held up Onix’s pokéball. “Good job, old friend. Return.”

Onix vanished, and the light cleared to reveal Burmy, who had been caught underneath. The sand cloak had melted away in some spots, and its eyes were closed.

Henry’s head drooped a little as he returned the pokémon and took out a second pokéball. Sebastian and the others shared confused looks, unsure as to whether to clap or not. Michael nodded again to himself, marking off the second mental check.

The Bronzor was released, and for a moment Michael stared up at it, watching it turn and twist in dizzying patterns above him. Henry was looking up at it too now, some inaudible thought running through his mind.

“Go, Clefairy!” His next pokémon sprang out from its container and landed onto the ground.

Byron flexed his wrists. Before Henry even had time to move -

“Bronzor, use Psychic!”

Michael watched as the invisible attack took hold. The Clefairy dropped to its knees, pressing its hands against its head. It rocked back and forth for a while and Henry watched it, teeth bared in a slight grimace.

“Clefairy! Use Wake-up-Slap!”

Michael could see the Clefairy concentrating. It lifted its beady eyes up towards the Bronzor, who was spinning somberly above it.

“Clefairy, go!” Henry urged again. Clefairy struggled to get up, its little neck bulging. It seemed to be pushing against a mental barrier, trying to break through a pane of glass to reach the proper muscles. At first, Michael thought it would give in, snapping like a twig under the pressure.

But in the next moment, something broke behind the pokémon’s eyes. The Clefairy bent down in renewed strength and leaped up, picking the Bonzor out of the air and bringing it back down with it.

The others began to clap. “Woo! Yeah! That’s it, do it Clefairy!”

The Clefairy had the Bronzor pinned down beneath it, oddly reminding Michael of how he had pinned down Dennis, and was slapping the shit out of it. It threw the Bronzor back, but the pokémon lifted itself up into the air again before Clefairy could grab it. It climbed up almost to the ceiling and let out a metallic clanking noise from its no-mouth, one that made Michael’s arms pickle.

The Bronzor’s eyes glowed a bright pink, and Clefairy was once again hammered down. It dropped down on its side and began to thrash, flipped around by an invisible hand. The kids let out drawling noises of pity, loud ooooohs and come ooons. Henry, for the first time that day, seemed completely unsure of what to do. He looked around for help, for anything, but no words came out of his mouth.

The Clefairy wrestled with itself again, rising then falling then rising again. It was gritting its teeth as if its head was filled with an annoying buzzing. With one eye open, it dug its fingers into the dirt and flung a clump at Bronzor’s face.

The dirt splattered, and Bronzor sank several feet. The invisible binds against Clefairy loosened, and the pokémon flung another chunk of dirt. The Bronzor was thrown back by the momentum, and sank even further, letting out more of its screeching noises.

Dirt! The word rang between Michael’s ears. That’s it! Ground affects steel! He tightened his grip around the bench. Henry just might pull through.

The Clefairy kept flinging, and Michael saw Henry’s eyes, wide with astonishment, following Bronzor as it fell, hovered back up, then fell again. Bronzor was clearly trying to regroup and counter, but it was hard to concentrate with a faceful of grime. When a small pile had amassed on its face, it collapsed from the sheer weight, and did not move.

Henry clamped his hands around his mouth.

Clefairy walked up to the Bronzor, now freed from Psychic’s effects. It gently wiped the dirt from the fallen pokémon’s face, to expose closed eyes. Fainted.

And then Byron began to clap.

“Well done! Well done, Henry!”

“Yeah!” Sebastian joined in. “Henry!”

The benches erupted in applause, louder than ever before. Michael nodded a third time, and brought his hands together to close the match, and their troubles. For a second, he thought he saw a tear slide down Henry’s cheek. Henry’s Clefairy jumped into his arms and he hugged it tightly. He whispered something in its ear, “Good job”, and called it back inside the pokéball.

The two met at center field, Leader and trainer, and shook hands. Everyone rose to crowd around them, to watch as Henry McPherson received his first badge. The Coal Badge looked the same as ever, but in the nest of Henry’s palm it seemed to shine and sparkle.

“You’ve grown, my boy, both as a trainer and as a person,” Byron said, and the roar died down. He placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “When I first saw you, you were unsure of yourself and your abilities. But I’m telling you, there’s a trainer somewhere inside there. You just have to make him come out. You got that?”

Henry nodded.

“You’ll try even harder in your upcoming battles?”

Henry beamed. “Yeah.”

Byron stepped back. “Then my job is done. Go, and good luck!” He indicated the exit, and Henry skipped along towards it, his friends dashing out after him.



The troupe of cheering kids spilled out into the sunny day, grouped together in the tiny front lawn in a mess of cheers and jumps. Sebastian and Kyle stood on either side of Henry, and lifted his arms like a boxing champion’s.

“Let’s hear it for Henry!”

“Wooooooooooo!”

The kids threw their arms up, then lowered them in a wave.

“Good going!” Tony ruffled Henry’s hair. “Now you can go on to Eterna! Lucky!”

“And then to Hearthome, Solaceon, and beyond, baby!”

“Yeah!”

Henry began laughing. His face was red, as the poor boy had nearly been driven to tears. “Thanks guys! Thanks so much!”

“Are you kidding me? That battle was awesome!” Cindy gushed. “At first you seemed like you’d go down, but then you came right back up and did it! You beat Byron with only two pokémon!”

“Yeah, that kid’s gonna make it big one day!” Martha said. “Mr. Henry, may I please have your autograph?”

They laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you guys down!” Henry said. He turned towards the sidewalk and beckoned to Michael. “Come on, we gotta go! We gotta get back to the hotel so we can pack for Eterna!”

Michael was about to go, but he stopped and took one last look at the kids. They quieted down at his stare, and looked back at him. They shared a moment of mutual silence, and then Sebastian spoke.

“So, you beat the Gym too?” he said.

“Yeah.”

The boy smiled. “Cool. Are you going for the League too? With Henry?”

Michael nodded. “Yep.”

“That’s great. It’s nice of you to travel with him. I think Henry needs a friend. And you’re a cool kid, Michael, even if you are thirteen.”

Michael smiled. “Hmm. You’re not bad for eleven either.”

Sebastian let out a laugh. “Thanks.”

Leroy stepped forward now, and took Michael’s hand in a sloppy handshake. He went over to Henry and shook his hand as well. “It was nice meeting you two. Really, really awesome battle! Congrats on the wins.” He stopped in front of Michael. “Oh, and good luck with the type strategies. They’re a really unique idea, and I think you’ll go pretty far with them.”

“Thanks. Good luck with your PokéDex,” Michael said with a wink.

Leroy smiled slyly. “Yeah. I’ll be traveling as well, looking for new entries and whatnot, so I hope we’ll meet again sometime.”

“I’m sure we will,” Henry said. “Thanks for coming to my battle.”

“No problem.”

Henry began to step away, but right then, he seemed to remember something. "Wait." He turned back to Leroy and dug a pokéball out of his tote bag. "Here." Turning away so that the others couldn't see, he handed the silver capsule to the boy.

Leroy appeared confused. "What for?" He turned the pokéball around, and saw the label he had pasted on it: 'Magikarp'.

"I'm giving it back to you," Henry said. "I appreciate it and everything, but... I just don't want to get in trouble for it."

To the side, Michael rolled his eyes. Leroy kept his gaze fixed on Henry, and nodded slowly. "All right. I can respect that. You don't have to keep it if you don't want to."

Henry smiled. "Thanks."

He turned back around to his other friends, who were clustered in front of the Gym. Tony let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well?” he shouted. “What are you waiting for? Go!” He gave Henry a push from behind. “Go to Eterna already! Don’t hang around us, you’re too cool for that now!”

“Yeah! Get outta here, champion!” Sebastian said. “Hurry up, before all the good reservations are taken!”

Laughing, Henry stumbled towards the sidewalk, one hand clutching his badge and the other waving at them. “Come on, Michael! We gotta go!” He beckoned, and Michael went to join him.

“Bye! Keep in touch!”

“I will!” Henry called back. “I’ll write, I’ll send postcards! I’ll send photos!” He kept waving until they were well down the path, and their shouts had faded behind with the sounds of the city.

Michael and Henry joined the flow of foot traffic, on their way back to the hotel. They stopped at a street crossing, and Michael turned.

“All right, let’s see it. Show me the badge.”

Henry held out the Coal Badge, smiling for the millionth time that day. He slanted it to the light, watching the patterns twist and turn like the skin of Bronzor.

“It’s awesome! And he gave me money too!” Henry patted his pocket. “I think it’s the same that you got. Fifteen dollars!”

Michael shrugged in a what-can-I-say sort of way. “I told you, didn’t I? All you need is strategy!”

“Yeah! And it’s all thanks to you!” Henry pushed Michael’s shoulder.

“Well, you did the battling,” he said. He was surprised by how sheepish it sounded.

“Yeah, but you showed me how! I thought I’d never ever ever ever get the badge before. But then I met you, and you told me exactly what I needed! You helped!”

Michael looked at the boy’s face, radiant with light and excitement. Though he had been happy at the accomplishment of attaining his own badge, Henry’s win was different. Michael had planned and shared a strategy that worked, and seeing it in action gave him a thrill. More so, the feeling of having helped someone other than himself for once seemed to lift something within him.


Right then, Michael found himself smiling.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ December 6th, 2010 5:32 PM

You have the unique honor of having your review being my 5,000th post on PC!

Quote:

watching as the metal patterns appeared and disappeared with the lights tilt.
"light's"

Quote:

Money gets spend
"spent"

Anyway, onto the chapter. You have some interesting and creative strategies in both battles, though Goldeen's Horn Attack on Bronzor shouldn't have been effective as it was... unless it was Horn Drill xD In any event, one of its water-based attacks might have been a better choice. I did like how Clefairy used dirt and mud to finish it off, though :P And I liked Michael's "provoke Machop into a blind rage" and "fight the inner enemy" advice, lol

And every chapter it seems I see more and more of Michael losing a bit more of his cold, hard exterior and opening up more to others. And now the two of them get to move on from that stinky old mining town and onto greener pastures :P I know you said you were getting sick of Oreburgh too.

Sorry this review was so short, but my mind's kinda focused on exams and other end of the year stuff. But I enjoyed reading this during my study break, and I'm looking forward to what new situations the two guys find themselves in next :)

Haruka of Hoenn December 7th, 2010 1:27 PM

Hey, thanks for the review! I don't care about the length, just leaving a thought or two is enough. And hooray for milestones.

I'm pretty sure I corrected that 'spent/spend' mistake... I clearly remember doing it :/ It's strange what your eyes can't pick up sometimes.

Anyways, Eterna should (and will) be fun to write. I already have it planned, so now I'm going to write away and see what works. See you next chapter :)

Haruka of Hoenn January 19th, 2011 12:39 PM

Hey there, Haruka of Hoenn's up and running again. I'm not going to say much this time around; these past few weeks have just been really stressful. I hope it won't show in the writing. I've been brooding over this chapter for a while, but I think I've finally gotten it to where I want it. It's not too long, but it's pretty important.

From here on out, the story takes a turn into a bigger development. You should have a pretty good idea about what is is when you're done with the chapter.



1.1

The sleepy town of Eterna was one of those places that never reached their prime.

It belonged to a rare class of towns that had been a part of Old Sinnoh, the inner ring surrounding the Coronet mountains that had been there since the continent’s formation. Eterna was one of the few that had withstood the test of time, and managed the miraculous growth from tiny village to self-supporting community. It carved its own roads and cleared away the woods to make room for buildings. Fertile soil allowed for continuous agriculture, and natural resources provided a modest supply for fuel and construction. Eterna was nestled in between two of Sinnoh’s most famous landmarks—the mountains loomed in the east and the famous Eterna Forest lurked in the west—but the town had nothing to show but graying asphalt and creaky doors. Trees that might have been standing since the beginning of time sagged over the streets, reaching for the sun with ancient, withered branches. The sky was colored the tired blue of a wasted day, and occasionally bore fat clouds that crept by with a senior’s pace.

The town had changed little in the past fifty years, as had the people. While the rest of the world was caught up in the forward march of technology, Eterna lagged in the dust, picking up bits and pieces left behind by the party. Every so often the townsfolk would be introduced to a new piece of gadgetry, which in fact had long been in use in other areas, and would be completely blown away by the ‘discovery’. Telephones were still considered an innovation that few were rich enough to obtain. Television consisted of a few boxes stacked together at the town market, and it was something to behold for the newspaper-reading residents. Cars were practically nonexistent; the only ones that passed through belonged to travelers, and those didn’t stay long. Looking from the outside, a tourist from Jubilife would see a primitive agricultural community, the kind that preceded the Industrial Revolution and looked too fragile to exist.

Indeed, being four years behind of everyone else would have frustrated any young adult, and for that reason, most of the populace consisted of either retirees, or families with little children. A vibrant, youthful face was a rare sight, and usually meant only a brief visitor who would be gone by the end of the week.

Bertha was the exception. Eterna had been home to her since she was a little girl, and just like a nasty weed coming out of the ground to choke a flower bud, it had grown on her.

Not so long ago, she had been the sweet little girl on Chestnut Road, the daughter of the best pie-baker in town, the one who was always playing with friends on the hill. Her childhood had been typical of that of an Eterna kid—swimming, biking, running, and all other outdoor excursions with sleep and food in between. She barely noticed how she had made the jump from five to twenty-five, how those long braids she used to wear had unraveled, and how her parents had suddenly become small and wrinkly. The town had a lulling effect on her; it seemed to wash away all sense of time. One day, she was wiggling her first loose tooth in front of a mirror, and the next day she was strolling about with a bra and manicured nails, looking to buy some coffee before she started her morning shift.

By that time, Bertha had grown so attached to the town that she refused to move away. While her friends moved on to bigger and better things, Bertha remained behind, willingly lost in her illusion of childhood. The home she selected stood within walking distance of a vast meadow, a vacant lot that formed the last bit of space between them and the forest. She had faint memories of skipping through it as a child, and still knew a few oldies who went bravely by it every morning, the routine having burned itself so deeply into their minds that it was nigh impossible to break away from. She planted a garden there, did some home renovations, and lived happily for a few years. She never looked back on her decision or thought about how different everything could have been, because as far as she was concerned, there was no world outside Eterna. Bertha had grown up walking the same streets, watering the same plants, and she reckoned that that was all she’d ever see.

Boy, had she been wrong.

On December 3rd, 1961 (she remembered the date exactly because she had been keeping track for months now), the lot was purchased by a company by the name of Team Galactic Enterprises. Bertha had gotten enough pleasure out of the meadow over the years to miss it when half of it got cut off by an electric fence, and when plans were made for the construction of a factory in its place.

After all those years of seclusion, Eterna’s first taste of modernization was like a slap in the face. Fliers were spread around the city, detailing Team Galactic’s purpose and their promise to the residents. The papers had been posted on lampposts, public bulletin boards, and mailed straight to houses. They still came about thrice a month, right onto Bertha’s doorstep in little stacks with multiple copies, lest she lose the ones from last time and suddenly forget what the hell was going on.

Bertha had heard of the Space Race, though it never seemed like something to worry about. She’d often catch glimpses of the news reports in diners, shop windows, and other places where TV boxes were so cunningly hidden. She’d see the same two anchormen every time, their crooked noses bent down over their papers while they droned on about some new innovation they found under a moon rock earlier that month. She didn’t see the big deal, and being a quiet, self-centered town that it was, Eterna didn’t either.

Supposedly, the factory would be making tiny bits of machinery—master computers, they were called—that would help the space shuttle’s navigation system. Each copy of the flier had a simple diagram of the device, along with a list of its many promised benefits. The letters closed with an enthusiastic statement saying that Team Galactic was looking forward to be their new partners and neighbors for many years to come.

After six months, six painful months of plugged ears and foggy mornings, construction was completed. One morning Bertha and many others went out to stand in the meadow and saw the completed building in all its glory—glimmering tubes, towering smokestacks, and spinning turbines dominating the horizon. From the outside, it looked like a torture camp. Surrounded by all that quiet nature, it was like a metal spike sticking out from a pile of dirt; both intimidating and entirely out of place. It was close enough to her home for her to hear the constant dumm-de-de-drumm of moving parts rise up from the silence, and feel the rumble beneath her feet when she walked by. It felt almost like an earthquake.

From the day she had first seen it, Bertha knew one thing, and she kept it in the back of her mind until it refused to be silenced: She didn't care what they were making. The factory could be designing weapons of mass destruction for all she cared. It didn’t matter which, because one day she'd reach the end of her string.




//////




After the battle, it had taken Michael and Henry less than two hours to pack their things, grab a quick lunch at the hotel café, check out, and be back on the sprawling streets of Oreburgh City, pushing along on their way.

In one of the shop windows, several TV boxes of different sizes were stacked on top of one another, all showing the same channel. An anchorman’s words sifted through the streets and into the hot summer air.

“Good morning Sinnoh, this is Teddy Ray live with your local weather on Channel Five. It is currently eighty degrees in Oreburgh City, sunny skies all around, with a fifteen percent chance of rain later in the evening. Looking good on the East side where, apparently, a new car dealership has opened...”

Michael and Henry kept to the sidewalks mostly, though they stopped at a little convenience store to pick up a map of Route 205. Michael held it in his hands, and Henry walked as fast as he could beside him, looking on over his shoulder.

“Route 205’s our only way out of this place, I think. It goes two ways—one to Cycling Road and the other to this nature path.”

Henry tapped his chin. “Ooh. Let’s go for the nature path.”

“It sounds like it’ll take ten times longer. I don’t want to spend three hours in a forest with Combees and God-knows-what crawling up my legs.”

Henry sighed. “But we don’t even have bicycles. Cycle Road only lets bikers on.”

“Shouldn’t they have rentals?” Michael said.

“I don’t think they do.”

Michael let out a groan. “Forget it. Cheapskates.” He rolled up the map and held it in his fist. “Fine, we’ll take the nature trail. But no stopping to smell the roses or anything, okay? We have to get to Eterna to book our next battles.”

Henry nodded. “Got it.”

They maneuvered their way through the rest of the city. Michael was already somewhat familiar with the roads, and some of the shops that lined them. They were able to walk quickly, since neither of them had that much to carry. The only extra luggage was the Stunky’s cage, but the pokémon too was becoming less of a burden now that it was being fed a steady diet with Henry’s pokémon food. When they passed by other pedestrians, Michael saw that it did not snap at the bars or growl, which he guessed was a good sign.

A few miles from the city, Route 207 split into two parts. The first, the trail which eventually came to be known as Cycling Road, was private property owned by a local business, and formed a bridge across a deep basin of land. The path was smooth and straight, but too brittle to accommodate the weight of cars. Due to popular tradition, but largely the business’s thirst for money, only bicycles were allowed.

Michael and Henry took the southern detour along the basin, following a thin strip of road that ran through it like a river. The valley was an enormous crater-like formation dotted with an odd mix of regular trees and evergreens, though as far as Michael could tell, they were more concentrated near the mountains. The path he was traveling was more dirt than anything, with the occasional tree here and there.

According to the map they were in the middle of a tangle of paths, each one breaking off from another to form a network much like the cross-section of a tree. They were traveling up the main road, Route 207, which ran a straight line right to the city. Cycling Road traced an arc overhead, its wired fences gleaming. Occasionally, Michael heard the elated shout of a cyclist shooting down the slope.

“I wish I had a bike,” Henry mumbled, looking up at the road with longing eyes. “It would make things so much easier, don’t you think?”

“Focus,” Michael said. “When we get the Championship, you can hire someone to drive you around. Even better than a bike.”

“Hmph.” Henry fell silent. As they walked he continued to stare up at the bikers, as if they were the luckiest people in the world.




//////




About an hour later, the two boys emerged from the route and passed through the city’s southern entrance.

The first thing Michael Rowan noticed about Eterna was the emptiness of the place, the feeling of dullness and slowness that was far too different from Oreburgh’s environment. He could see no other kids his age, or anybody that even vaguely looked like a trainer.

The first street he encountered was Flint Avenue, marked by an old wooden sign. The buildings here were all small and gray, their roofs hanging limp with the burden of uncounted years. The trees moved lazily, their shadows spilling across the empty, quiet street whose only passengers stood smack in the middle, squinting with confusion.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Henry said.

“There’s only one Eterna, as far as I know.” Michael looked at the map again, and began to trace their route with his finger. “Yep. This is it. Eterna City.” He looked up, and still couldn’t believe it. Apparently, all the League excitement that infested Orebrugh like a virus dwindled here, and he couldn’t decide what to make of it. Either the Gym here was so boring that all the trainers had moved on after their first battle, or it was so hard that they had all gone home.

“I wonder what type of Gym they have here." Henry craned his neck in search of the building.

“Assuming there is one at all,” Michael said. “This place is like a ghost town.”

Henry smiled. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s been around for an eterna-ty!” He began to giggle.

Michael continued to stare at the map. It didn’t offer a detailed outline of the city—only a tiny white dot in the middle of a pattern of large green squares. He rolled up the paper and sighed.

“Guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Come on. We’ll follow the streets and do the best we can.”

They cut a twisting path through the city, heeding a random series of signs and crossing streets. The town looked much the same in every direction—drab, simple, and undeveloped. He could tell it was one of those small towns, the ones that didn’t seem to understand the meaning of modern times and hadn’t made repairs in over twenty years. The asphalt was gray and cracked, and in some places the roots of trees broke clean through to make little ripples in the sidewalk.

The jagged lines of houses began to set in as they went deeper. Where the city’s entrance had been something like an empty railroad terminal, now Michael saw large slices of green lawn trimmed with mechanical precision. Some gardens were more lavish than others, filled with mini statues and colorful flowers, and Michael thought he could sense the traces of neighbor rivalry behind their perfect petals.

They kept walking, sticking to the sidewalk and looking around. The silence was almost deafening. Michael’s neck grew sore from being pivoted back and forth, and his eyes grew tired of seeing nothing but blue roofs, gray houses, and trees. Henry had the other side covered, but by the looks of it he hadn’t spotted anything either.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything here,” Henry said. “This just looks like a huge neighborhood.”

Michael tilted his head up and squinted, trying to see all the way to the horizon. Their street went on for what seemed like forever, intersecting with other perpendicular roads with houses of their own. Further down, the road vanished entirely, and there was a bare splotch of land right in the middle of everything. Here the people flocked, small clumps of them walking in and out of large barn-like buildings with paper bags in hand. Michael guessed it to be some sort of marketplace.

“The Gym could be there,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They came closer. A giant banner propped up on wooden stilts greeted them with a handpainted ‘WELCOME’, and beyond that was a scene that resembled a circus. A generous amount noise returned to Michael’s ears as he entered. It was like no other marketplace Michael had ever seen before—nuts and vegetables were piled in wooden chests, resting on tables beneath canvas tents. Meat was sold in booths, sometimes right out in the open. Michael passed several headless Grumpig bodies hanging from the ceiling like ornaments. Through it all, Michael diligently searched the crowd, hoping to find anyone who looked like a trainer, but saw nothing. In fact, no one even seemed to have pokéballs with them at all, nor gloves, hats, or anything else that signified the League. It was just a crowd of regular people living regular lives.

“Hello boys!” said a man behind a booth. “Want to buy some Nomel berries? They’re in season.” He tapped a box filled with tiny yellow berries.

“Uh, no thanks,” Michael said.

The man seemed genuinely surprised. “What? You know, the whole point of coming here in the summertime is to get the fresh harvest.”

Michael didn’t say anything, but walked on. Indeed, it did seem like there was some sort of special occasion going on. Every person seemed to be buying something, and some were carrying whole baskets filled with produce. There wasn’t a metal shopping cart in sight. But the one thing that surprised Michael the most was how familiar the people acted. It seemed like one giant party; everyone was laughing and joking together like they had been friends for their entire lives.

When he finally had enough, Michael stopped right in the middle of it all and dropped his arms to his sides. “What the hell?” he exclaimed. “Oreburgh was crawling with trainers! Crawling with them! What kind of Gym town is this?”

“Maybe it’s a test,” Henry said. “They’re trying to see how committed we are to the League. They probably hid the Gym on purpose to frustrate us and see if we’d give up.”

“Well it’s a stupid test,” Michael said. But the more he thought about it, the more logical it seemed. By hiding the Gym, the leader would be able to filter out all the whiners, the ones who weren’t serious about their goals and gave up on a whim. Those types of trainers were bound to fail from the start, and the leader wouldn’t have to worry about wasting his time on people who didn’t care anyway.

Two can play at that game, Michael affirmed. “Lets go, Henry. Whoever this leader is, we’ll shove his plan right back into his face.”

“Right.” Henry nodded.

They left the market and went back into the town, turning onto a new road.

“This time, keep an eye out for anything and everything,” Michael said. “The Gym’s probably hidden where we least expect it to be.”

“What if we passed it already?” Henry said. “I don’t want to go back all that way!”

“For now, we’ll keep going. If we don’t find it, then we’ll go back.”

“Fine. But this cage is getting really heavy. Can you hold it for a while? My arm hurts.” Henry held up the Stunky’s cage. In the full heat of day, the Stunky had fallen asleep. Michael took the cage and looked down at it with a snort.

“You’re mighty lucky, aren’t you? You get to sleep and be lazy while we carry you around everywhere.” He lifted the cage up to eye level. “It’s getting pretty fat too,” he observed. “It’ll have to start exercising.”

Henry giggled.

“What? I’m serious. We’ll get it a leash and it’ll walk on its own. It’s about time too.”

They were nearing a road named Meadow’s Road. Michael stopped at the sign and scanned the houses in front of them. The development was beginning to thin somewhat, and nature was slowly tightening its hold. Houses were more widely-spaced, and grass grew from cracks in the pavement. To the west, the land sloped upwards in a giant hill, but that was all he could see.

As he walked, Michael couldn’t help but notice that the houses here were larger and somewhat grander. Some had two, even three, floors. There were still no garages, but each house had a separate, smaller structure attached to it that resembled a large shed.

“I don’t think this is working,” Henry said. “Each house just looks like a house.”

“That’s the point.”

“No, I really think we should go back. The Gym wouldn’t be this far in. Remember Oreburgh?”

“So? If you haven’t noticed, this town isn’t exactly a copy of Oreburgh’s layout. Just keep going. We don’t have that far anyway. Just up to the hill.”

“But I’m tired!” Henry sighed. “I’m sick of walking like this! We’ve been walking nonstop from Oreburgh!”

“What, you think I’m not tired? I’m the one carrying the cage right now, and I’m not complaining!”

Henry stopped in his tracks and sat down on the asphalt, crossing his legs. “I’m taking a break. You can go if you want to. Tell me if you find anything.”

“Yeah sure, I’ll tell them how I found the Gym all by myself and this annoying whiner kid wanted to go home.”

Henry’s face reddened. “I never said that! I just want to take a break! Sheesh!”

Michael began to laugh, unable to help himself. Henry closed his eyes and lay down on the pavement. A second later, his eyes were open and he was back on his feet.

"Whoa! Do you feel that?" he said.

“Feel what?” Michael turned.

Henry sat down again, this time placing both palms onto the ground. “That... rumble.”

Michael perked an eyebrow. “What rumble? I don’t hear anything.”

“No, sit down! You have to sit down to feel it. It’s right beneath the ground. Sort of like a train.”

Michael sat down and placed the cage beside him. At first he felt only warm cement, but sure enough, he began to feel a distant churning rise up from somewhere beneath it.


Dumm de-de drumm de-de drumm...


Michael shook his head. “That’s impossible. Trains don’t go that far underground.”

“Is it an earthquake?”

“No, it can’t be that either.”

Henry looked at him for a moment, then rose to his feet. He walked forward a few meters, then stopped, and sat down again. “It’s louder now! It gets louder the farther you go!”

Michael got up and sat down at Henry’s spot. Sure enough, the sound had grown louder. “That’s really weird.” He got up and walked some more. They passed three more houses without any change, but after the fourth, the sound could be heard right above ground.

Henry looked around. “Where’s that sound coming from?”

“I don’t know.”

“So weird,” Henry said. “It’s kind of scary too, don’t you think?”

“Whatever, let’s keep going. Hopefully it’ll pass.”

They kept walking, though neither of them could resist a sideways glance here and there. In a few minutes, they had reached the end of Meadow’s Road. The street was cut off by the soil, and from there on rolled untamed nature. The sound had increased twofold, and Michael could almost feel the rumbling beneath his feet. Henry stopped and placed his hands on his knees.

“I really think we should ask someone, Michael. I really don’t think the Gym will mind if we’re resourceful.” Henry looked around, then pointed. “Let’s try them.”

Michael turned immediately to the spot. Henry was pointing to one of the last houses on the block, and this one stood noticeably separate from the others. A black Chevrolet Impala was parked beside the curb, and on the porch, two figures stood together. One, a woman, was holding open the door and looking down beneath the tiny roof. The second was a man in a suit and tie. He was looking up at her and shouting something angry and inaudible.

“Uh, they look kinda busy,” Michael said. Nevertheless, he crept closer. Michael could begin to sense the heat of an argument in the couple’s tone, and hear what was being said.

“... For the last time, I assure you, nothing harmful is being returned to the environment!” the man was urging, almost pleading.

The woman who was scowling down at him was visibly younger. Her blonde hair spilled down her shoulders in lovely curls and she had the round, supple cheeks of a flower-child. But at the same time, her eyes trapped an unspeakable anger that made the man shrink.

“Don’t give me that crap!” she said. “All you fancy managers come here and tell me the same goddamn thing every time, yet nothing gets done!”

“I tell you, it’s impossible! We inspect the premises daily!”

“Well it’s time to inspect again!” the woman spat. “Those gases are killing my plants.”

The man paused to take a deep breath. “If you want to file a complaint, I can give you the address of the supervisor—”

“I’m already filing a complaint! To you! Now you can go tell your supervisor that he can either check the shit he’s dumping into the ground, or go move his factory somewhere else!”

The man gasped, as if that had been an insult. “The factory produces materials for spacecraft! It’s vital to the Space Program, it cannot be moved!”

“Listen: I am giving him exactly two weeks to reply with a plan of action. After that, I promise you, I will kick you out of here and send your bare behinds to another town. Understand?”

“The Space Program is the beating heart of the country! You are disrupting innovation, simple girl! Without our aid, your town would be broke!”

“Have I made myself clear?” the woman repeated. “Or should I just go to the director right now and tell him what a lovely job you’re doing at customer service? I’m sure he’d love to hear how you called the people of your host town simple.”

The man drew back. He scrunched his nose and lowered his fists primly to his sides. “This is an outrage! You can be certain that I’ll be calling the director, Miss Herrida, but it’ll not be for the reason you think!” He slammed his hat onto his head, leaving the top crushed and askew. “Good day!”

The man hobbled off down the road, lost in a string of angry mumbling. He barely noticed as he brushed past Michael and Henry on his way to the Impala. The car tipped a little under the man’s weight and drove off, coughing up a trail of brown gas. Michael watched it go for a moment, then turned back just in time to see the woman close the door.

“Wait!” Henry called. He ran the remaining distance to the house and began to pound on the door, Michael stepping up after him. “We want to talk to you!”

The door opened a second later, throwing Henry back. The heat had not quite faded from the woman’s cheeks and she looked ready to shout again, but when she made eye contact with the boys, her face softened and her grip slackened on the doorknob. “Oh. Hello. What is it, boys?”

“Do you know where the Gym is?” Michael asked. “We came from Oreburgh’s Gym to get the second badge. You know, for the League.”

Michael was half-anticipating more confusion, but instead the woman’s face slackened and she slumped against the doorframe. “Oh.” It came out like uh. “You’re trainers, then. Right. Sorry I’m all over the place today. I’m just so damn tired. Come in.” She stepped back and beckoned for them to enter. Her house was sunny and spacious, though there wasn’t much to fill it. Her living room was furnished with only two armchairs and a coffee table in between. The woman went ahead of them, taking off her shoes by the doormat and replacing them with slippers.

“My name’s Bertha,” she said. “Sorry you had to see that little conversation earlier. I promise, I don’t yell that much.” She smiled, showing a softer side. “I’m the leader of Gym number two. It must have taken you quite a while to get here. I can see it in your faces.”

Michael braced himself for the accusation. Beside him, Henry nodded. “We looked all over for it.”

“I’m not surprised. Not everyone can find it the first time. I’m not calling you stupid, don’t get me wrong, because the camouflage is pretty good. We don’t have the money to build a real facility, so I use my house for the time being.”

Henry looked over to Michael and shrugged. Michael nearly laughed at the coincidence.

“Come on, I’ll show you the basement,” Bertha said. “That’s where I conduct the battles.”

She led them through a hallway, down a short flight of stairs and into a wide, musty room that looked like a garage. She turned on the lights, revealing an expanse of wood floor, brown walls, and tiny windows that closely resembled the Oreburgh Gym. This room, however, was much smaller and simpler. The boundary line was handpainted, and a water cooler in the corner added a touch of home. A wooden bench ran across the walls to seat a small audience.

“It doesn’t get any better than this, boys,” Bertha. “No professional paint, no welcome signs, just a roof and a floor to battle on. But it’s where the magic happens.”

She didn’t wait for them to agree, but went to sit behind an office desk that had been shoved into the corner. The room was half-office too, and there were several file cabinets and framed photos hanging from the walls. Michael and Henry took the two vacant seats in front of her.

"Okay, let’s cut to the chase." Bertha picked up a pencil and opened a journal. "Since you're here, I can assume you've beaten Byron?"

Both boys took out their badges, Michael from his backpack and Henry from his badge case. Bertha nodded. "And Byron checked your records, I.D.s, everything?"

“Yes,” Michael said at once. Bertha nodded again.

“All rightie, now I’ll sign you up for your battle dates. Who wants to go first?”

Michael and Henry exchanged glances.

“I guess I will,” Michael said. “My name is Michael Rowan.”

“Okay. Let’s see...” Bertha flipped a page and put her pencil down onto a square. “The next day I have open is tomorrow, at eight o'clock."

"Morning?!"

"No," she chuckled. "At night. I'm busy all during the day, and evening battles tend to be more interesting. If you don’t mind, of course, because I can always put you in for the morning after, but then your friend won’t be able to battle for another three days, which means you’ll be stuck in here even longer." Bertha looked at him. “It’s up to you.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “I guess I’ll take tomorrow.”

Bertha nodded. She jotted something down onto the square and looked up at Henry. “So, you’ll take the morning after? Nine o’clock?”

“Sure,” Henry said.

“Mhmm.” Bertha took another note. “By the way boys, if you’re not sure about the battle dates, tell me now. I’ve had kids come in here changing at the last minute, and just plain skipping matches. It’s a pain, and it sure as hell isn’t going to improve their chances of winning.”

“No, we’re sure.” Michael said.

“Good. Then it’s all settled. Thanks kids, you have no idea how easier this is on me. The only other thing I’ll have to ask you is if you’ve made any arrangements for lodging.”

“Lodging? You mean this place has a hotel?” Henry said.

“Nope. That’s why I asked. The mayor’s either too lazy or too broke to build one, which is why most of the trainers we get don’t want to stick around.”

Michael lowered his head to his shoes, realizing the problem. He turned to Henry. “Shoot. What are we going to do?”

Bertha answered for him. “Stay here, what else? I have a couple of guestrooms, and I clean them once or twice a week. It’ll do for the time being.”

“Wow, are you sure?” Henry said.

“Yeah. I run a house, a gym, why not a hotel too?” Bertha chuckled. “Just don’t expect any special treatment. I tell it to everyone who stays here—in the morning I feed you, and at night I kick your butt in battle and send you packing for home. No mercy.”

Michael and Henry exchanged glances. Bertha rose from her chair and went around to the door. “Come on, I’ll show you upstairs. You can bring the little guy up too. I don’t mind.” She nodded to the Stunky in the cage.

Bertha led them out of the basement, and through another hallway that went deeper into the house. She unlocked two doors that stood side-by-side, revealing almost-identical rooms. Henry went left and Michael went right, though the differences weren’t great. Both had full-size beds, white walls, plain curtains, and nightstands—the median of comfort. The only thing that spoiled it all was the noise, which Michael had suddenly become aware of again. Dum-de-de-drumm, it went, over and over like an annoying song.

Bertha leaned against the wall and rubbed her temples. “Oh, that noise... it’s like taking a hammer and pounding my head with it... Sorry, again. You boys came on a bad day. Bad bad bad.”

“Where’s the sound coming from?” Michael said.

“The factory,” she mumbled. “The goddamn factory over the hill.”

“Is that what you were arguing with that man about?” Henry said.

“Yeah.” Bertha opened her mouth into a greedy yawn. “They’re a bunch of irresponsible assholes, pardon the language. Ever since that factory got built they’ve been dumping all these chemicals into the water as waste. I have a garden in what’s left of the meadow over there.” She pointed out the window, towards the expanse of green grass outside. “I grow my own vegetables instead of buying imports from the market. But lately, all my plants have been dying. Every time I walk up the hill to water them, I see all these flakes in the grass. They’re in the soil, in the water, everywhere. Sometimes, at night, I can see this big cloud of something right around the factory. It’s like fog, but it stinks. Once it left me coughing for days.”

Henry stuck out his tongue. “Yuck, that’s disgusting! Someone should really do something about it.”

“What, you think I’m not trying?” she blurted, slapping the wall. Henry drew back from her sudden anger. “I’ve been trying to talk to their director for months now, and all I get are loons like him!” She jerked her thumb back in the direction of the front door. “They don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

“What’s the factory supposed to be making?” Michael said.

“Some computer thing that powers the space shuttle. I don’t know why that should involve using chemicals, but apparently it does.”

So they’re employed by Team Galactic?” His face lit up.

“No, they are Team Galactic.” Bertha smiled sourly. “I know, surprising, isn’t it? Behind all those flashy TV programs is hardcore industry, kids. There’s no getting away from it. They look for the smallest, most looked-over spots in the region to put up their buildings and they snatch them up like hotcakes.”

Henry shook his head in fervent protest. “But how can this town be overlooked? It’s a Gym town!” he said. “They’d never put up a factory in Oreburgh, so why here?”

Bertha shrugged. “The Space Program isn’t connected to the League. Now, the League is somewhat decent; it wants to bring people to the historic places of Sinnoh and try to get everyone to travel and cooperate a little more. But the Space Program sees everything through one lens. They’re only interested in what’s beyond our planet, not what’s already living on it.” She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms. “So far, the Gym’s been running pretty smoothly. I get kids coming in, I battle them, and they either move on or stay until they win. And I like it. I get to meet a lot of different people and help them take the next step in their life. You know, it makes me happy. But lately...” She looked over to the window again, at the base of the hill that was visible from here, and her words trailed off. As if in response to them, the factory’s rumbling grew slightly louder. “Lately, it’s just been a burden. That’s all I can say. Galactic is taking advantage of us, and I want to get them out.”

“How are you gonna do it?” Michael spoke, and his tone surprised him. It was daring, almost taunting, as if some inner part of him had risen up to defend his long-loved idol. To his relief, Bertha didn’t react to it.

“Petition, if I want to do it the ethical way. If not... well, that’s too much for you kids to know. I thought you wanted a battle, not an interrogation.” Bertha turned away, and by her expression Michael knew she would say no more on the matter. “I’ll make dinner later today. Pasta on Wednesdays. You both good?”

Michael and Henry nodded.

Bertha smiled. “Great. In the meantime, you can roam around if you’d like. Go outside, or whatever kids do these days.”

“Okay,” Michael said.

“It was nice meeting you,” Henry added.

Michael was about to turn for the door, when a sudden thought made him stop. He wheeled back around to face Bertha. "Hey, what type of Gym are you?"

She looked up. "Pardon?"

"I mean, what's your favorite type to use?"

Bertha looked at him curiously. "Well... I guess it would be grass. They help me with my gardening, and I'm around them so frequently that I started using them for battles too."

Michael nodded, hoping his inner smile didn’t show. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Bertha noded and walked off. When he and Henry were alone, Michael let his backpack slide to the floor.

“Leave your things here. Let’s go outside.”


When Michael got to the front porch, he took a moment to stand there, hands in pockets, looking out at the slow-arching hill. The sun was beginning to dip into late afternoon. The bare grass shivered like living hair, daisies nodding their heads in the wind’s direction. Henry joined his side momentarily. They stood in silence for a while, then Michael spoke. “Well, that went better than I expected. We have our battles. And the Gym is grass.”

Henry nodded. “So we need a Fire type? You know, because forest fires burn down trees.”

“I guess so. I can’t think of anything else off the top of my head, so we’ll go for fire.”

“What about pokéballs? Do you think this place sells them?”

“If the local market craze is Nomel berries? I doubt it.”

“But it can’t hurt to look around, right? We should go visit the market tomorrow.”

“No,” Michael said. “My schedule’s tight enough as is. I have to be ready for a battle by tomorrow evening. At least you get an extra night of sleep. If we’re going to make a capture, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. By hand.”

Henry crinkled his nose. “Getting that Machop was just plain hard. And in the end, we still needed a pokéball. How are we gonna get by without one?”

Michael smiled. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I got my Stunky?”

“No, why?”

“Well, it’s more of a demonstration. Three boys, armed with nothing but a net and their bare hands. I guess we can still get by with two, but you’ll have to be on your toes.”

Henry smiled. “Cool.”

“Let’s go. We’ll take a quick look around to see what this place has, then we’ll go back to get some equipment.” Michael stepped down from the porch. “Let’s start at the meadow. There are bound to be pokémon there.” He took several steps into the road when he realized Henry wasn’t following. Michael looked back, and saw that the boy was still standing on the porch, looking down at him uneasily.

“What?”

“The factory.” Henry pointed. “Didn’t she say there was a factory by the meadow?”

Michael shrugged. “So?”

Henry’s gaze fell. “I don’t know... We shouldn’t go near it. What if someone catches us?”

“We won’t go into the boundary, stupid. There must be a fence around it if it’s in a public place, right? We’ll just look around the area by the fence, see if there are any pokémon worth looking at, then leave. No one gets in trouble for that.”

Henry maintained silence, and Michael was about to go over and drag the boy down himself, but at the last minute he jumped down. The two boys crossed the street and ascended the hill.

The grass on the hill was pale and soft; clearly it had been spared of the relentless daily treading that normally thinned city grass. The slope was uneven, steep in some places and flat in others. By the time he and Henry scaled it, his feet were slipping in their shoes and the hems of his jeans were soiled with dirt. The noise had also changed. It was no longer a single rumbling in Michael’s ears, but a pattern of swishes and crashes that were actually quite separated.

The fence he had anticipated stood about sixty meters away, and it was the tall electric kind. The green space leading up to it was utterly barren, like Professor Emerson’s giant bald head sticking out from the ground. Even the grass had thinned.

They crept closer, and Michael saw that a large notice was attached to the metal wiring:




WARNING!
HAZARDOUS WORK AREA!
NO ACCESS PERMITTED
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
AND ARE SUBJECT TO FINING
PROPERTY LICENSE: TEAM GALACTIC ENTERPRISES




Beyond that was a giant gray building, its color nearly matching with the crisscross wiring of the fence. By the looks of the curve, the hill should have gone up some more, but the point had been chopped off and flattened by a large slice of white asphalt that stretched all the way to the horizon. The building was in the middle of it, surrounded by a second, smaller fence. The factory had four giant smokestacks, all spewing out tiny amounts of the same white stuff into the sky. It had no windows and no other visible openings, and the noises seemed to be coming from somewhere within. Michael’s eyes swept over the cold lines of its silhouette, then he felt a sharp jolt in his arm.

“Come on let’s go, I don’t want to get in trouble!” Henry’s voice was small against the rumble.

“We’re not gonna get in trouble. See? We’re just looking.”

This wasn’t enough for Henry. He shook his head and began to back away. “We’re not supposed to be here. I’m leaving.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Fine. Baby.” He turned to follow him, but as he did, he saw something shift in the background. Michael jumped back towards the spot, and his eyes met a distant patch of trees. Something within their shadows had moved briefly, but whatever it was, it had vanished.

Henry stopped mid-step and looked at Michael. “What is it?”

“I think someone was there in the trees.”

“It’s probably just a pokémon. Now hurry up, I want to get out of here.” Henry beckoned. Michael’s eyes lingered on the spot, then he ran to join him.

Twiggeus January 21st, 2011 6:37 PM

I've read up to chapter 8, and I think it's great. =D

One thing that I thought was odd is how the kids don't know much about Pokemon Types. You'd think they would have figured it out by now.

Edit:

1.1 Errors
Michael began to laugh, unable to help himself. Henry closed his eyes and lay down on the pavement. A second later, his eyes were open and he was back on his feet.

“Feel what?” Michael turned.


Looks like you missed a sentence.

Also, you repeated the part where Michael asks what type of gym it was.

Haruka of Hoenn January 22nd, 2011 3:41 PM

Ick, both of those were formatting errors I must have made while posting... I'll get them fixed. Thanks for pointing it out.

As for the types, no one is familiar with them at this point in time. In 1963, just as science wasn't as advanced as it is today, they didn't know as much about pokemon as they do in the games, the Pokemon world's 'modern times'. During the course of the fic, you'll see how that knowledge broadens.

Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like it so far.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ January 22nd, 2011 7:18 PM

Can't post anything too long, but I will say I liked this chapter once again. You did quite a good job with setting the scene of Eterna as this smaller community that's quiet, boring, and behind the times... kinda like my hometown where I'm unfortunately stuck right now :/

Like with Byron, it's been interesting to see what Bertha, another mainstay of the current era, was like "back in the day". I like your characterization because it shows Bertha as more hot-headed and outspoken in her youth, yet still with that air of politeness that carries over into the mannerisms in the games. And for some reason, now I'm really itching for a spin-off fic that shows how Bertha eventually tries to combat the who Galactic factory issue.

And speaking of which, the actions of the group already hint at the more malicious activities they'll attempt in the future... you can already see hints of corruption already just in the way the team representative conducted himself with Bertha.

Well now, I'm looking forward to seeing what happens. Will Michael be able to catch a suitable Pokemon to take on Bertha, or will he run afoul of Team Galactic by hunting around outside their property?

And some final notes:

Quote:

on his way to the black Chevrolet Impala that awaited him by the curb
The guy's a jerk, but he's got a sweet ride at least. The Impalas of the 1960's were boss (unlike the crappy ones they have today)

Quote:

The mayor’s either too lazy or too broke to build one
Usually it's not the mayor's role to build such facilities. Most of the time, some firm builds and runs them and just has to get permits from the local offices. I haven't seen any traveler lodging facilities that have been government-owned or operated.

I'm definitely looking forward to the next chapter!

Haruka of Hoenn January 23rd, 2011 10:27 AM

Quote:

Like with Byron, it's been interesting to see what Bertha, another mainstay of the current era, was like "back in the day". I like your characterization because it shows Bertha as more hot-headed and outspoken in her youth, yet still with that air of politeness that carries over into the mannerisms in the games. And for some reason, now I'm really itching for a spin-off fic that shows how Bertha eventually tries to combat the who Galactic factory issue.
Bertha's campaign to fight Team Galactic is woven directly into the plot, so you don't have to worry about missing any of that. Team Galactic won't quite be the world domination-seeking masterminds that they are in the games, but their decisions will change the country a lot. More on that later, though.

As for the hotel, Eterna can't fund the building of one because it's not financially able. The mayor stuff I was getting at is Eterna's government system, which isn't complex at all since it's such a small, community-oriented town. I'll go more in-depth in the next chapter(s), but basically Eterna has a town council and a head, which would be the mayor.

So, thanks for the review! I'll be working on the next chapter, which I have a good beginning plan for. Expect it... sometime :P

Haruka of Hoenn July 2nd, 2011 2:07 PM

A little note about this one:

First of all, this chapter is short, and somewhat uneventful. I couldn't write it any other way - to do anything more would be to just stuff it with unnecessary details.

But the good news is, I've compensated by finishing Chapter 13 (it's completely done) and I will be posting it in a few days so you won't have to wait too long after reading this one. Chapter 13 will be of regular length, and it has a lot more going on than this one does. Twelve is by no means unimportant, though, so I'd still read it carefully if I were you.


1.2

By eight o’clock, the sun was beginning to set over Route 205. Trees were slimmed by their own shadows and the sun was slowly closing its eye, spilling bands of red and purple across the sky.

The route itself was a small meadow with a brook running through it. The meadow wasn’t as large as the one over the hill (even with the factory taking up an entire half, it had been huge), but plant life was abundant here, and it thickened as the water trailed west towards the forest.

When Michael got there, the route was aglow with afternoon light. It had a generous amount of trees and bushes, and lots of shady spots that revealed glimpses of a forest within. In the daytime, trainers would no doubt have gathered to practice in such an abundant spot, but for now the route was quiet. The only other person there was a fisherman casting his line from the narrow bridge. A bucket stood by his side, filled with tiny, gleaming masses.

"All right. Let's drop everything here. No one's gonna take it." Michael set his backpack into the dirt, and Henry did the same.

When Michael straightened, he gave the route another once-over. "Okay, this is definitely a good spot. Pokémon hide in really out-of-the-way places—the kind where no one would think to look. So, we’re going to have to spend more than a few minutes if we want to find out. It can get pretty dry, but be patient. Got it?”

Henry nodded.

Michael stared at the trees for a moment. “Good. Now what we really need now is a net...”

“But what about using our bare hands?” Henry cut in. “Isn’t that how you got the Stunky?”

“Yeah, but hands are only good for catching. Once you catch a pokémon you have to find a way to keep it, and it’s not like we can carry it back to Bertha’s place.”

“But we don’t have a net. Where are we gonna get one?” Henry said.

Michael smiled. “I was thinking we could get one off of that guy.” He pointed to the fisherman. "Let’s ask.”

The fisherman was so caught up in his task that he barely noticed their approach. His boots were soaked up to the heels with water, and the edges of his vest were frayed and weathered. Up close, Michael could examine his bounty: Piles of dead Goldeen, Barboach, and Horsea were all lumped together in the bucket, giving off a slightly rotten smell. Behind him was a large mass of netting, unused.

"Hey, can you lend us that net really quick?" Michael called out, and the man jumped. The pole slipped from his hands and splashed into the water.

“Damn!” The man spat, and bent to pick it up. The empty hook was slightly stained with blood, but whatever it had held was gone. The man swore again, and turned his sweaty face to Michael. “You’ve just lost me my dinner, kid. What do you want?”

"We were just wondering if you would let us use that net." Michael pointed.

The man rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Sorry, kid. I've been waiting all afternoon to reel in the big one, and I still haven’t gotten anything. I run a shop you know, and if I can’t sell I can’t buy.” He took a fresh chunk of bait from a second bucket, attached it to the hook, and cast the line again.

"Just the extra one,” Michael said. “We’ll only take it for a minute or two, then give it back.”

"Please?" Henry added, with a sugary smile on top.

Before the man could respond, something tugged at the pole. He quickly rose to his feet, twisting the crank with a growing smile. "Here it comes, here it comes..."

With a final grunt, he pulled, and the force of it nearly pushed him to the other side of the bridge. Something splashed, and out from the water came a giant lump of seaweed. Michael began to laugh. When the fisherman saw his prize, his sun-baked face reddened further.

"Shit!" he snarled. He dropped the pole and pressed his hands to his face. "Half an hour wasted, and it turns out to be grass...”

"So can we have your net?" Michael asked again.

"Fine, fine, fine! Just leave me alone!" The man lifted the net from the ground and thrust it into Michael’s hands. He paced around for a few moments, then sat back down, his legs hanging over the side. As Michael walked away, the man began to mumble to himself.

"Well, that was weird," Henry said. "At least we have our net. So what do we do now?"

"Follow my lead. And be really quiet too. Pokémon scare easy." Michael approached a bush, bent down beside it, and gave it a quick shake. Some leaves fell out, but he could hear no other noise.

Michael moved on to the next bush and shook it. Still nothing. He closed his eyes and listened, for his science teacher once told him that your hearing worked better when your sight was cut off. (Michael had tried the trick several times, but never really saw a difference.) All around him he could hear screeches and rustles, each sound twinkling in his mind. But when he opened his eyes, all he saw was stillness.

Several minutes passed. Michael continued to stare up at the trees, lost in the intricate patterns of their branches. He could have easily slipped into a daydream, until Henry’s voice jarred him awake.

"How long does this usually take?" the boy whispered.

"Sssh! Longer if you keep talking!"

Henry fell silent. A minute later, Michael felt a tap on his shoulder.

"How long did it take for you to find your Stunky?"

"Ugh. A while, okay? We had to skip the entire third period to get it."

"Skip classes?" Henry gasped.

"Yes. Skip classes. It's not as mind-blowing as it seems."

"But why would you do that?"

"It doesn't matter, just shut up!”

“But—”

“Look, do you want to win the Gym or not?"

"Yes!"

"Then shut up!"

Michael blinked and turned around, once more scanning the area. He did three full circles, but all he saw were the same trees, bushes, and rocks.

"I don't get it," he said after a while. "Where are all the pokémon?"

"Hey, look!" Henry said.

Michael jumped. "Where? What? What is it?" He lifted the net, ready to swipe at any moment.

"Right over there!" Henry pointed to a tall hedge. It was covered with bright pink blooms that swayed oddly with the wind. Instead of moving in one direction, as the laws of nature dictated, each flower opened and closed its petals freely, as if to kiss the air. Michael moved closer, narrowing his eyes enough to see the tiny peeking faces behind the petals.

"Are those... pokémon?" Henry said, creeping closer. The flowers had tiny black eyes and mouths that, at the first glance, looked to be no more than spots. Each face was unique, and some had different colors than others.

“They're Cherrim,” Michael said.

"Neat!” Henry said. He lifted a finger and gently brushed one of the delicate petals. Instantly, the bloom snapped shut, displaying a blue outer shell. A smile spread across his lips.

"Ha! That was so cool!" He poked a second, and laughed as it did the same thing. "Why do they do that?"

Michael sighed. "Focus, Henry. We have to find a fire type." He pulled Henry away from the bush, and they went deeper into the meadow, following the course of the brook. Michael kept his eyes open, and stopped when they alighted on a large tree that stood on the other side. It was some sort of willow tree, with thin, stringy leaves and roots that bulged out of the ground.

"You see that tree over there?" Michael pointed.

"Yeah."

"I bet that's where all the pokémon are. Let's go look."

They carefully crossed the brook, stepping on stones whose heads were above the waterline. The trees here were more tightly-packed, and their branches seemed to weave together into a single canopy that sheltered them from the light.

"Okay. You come in from the left, and I'll come in from the right. This way, we'll corner whatever's hiding there, and it'll be our advantage. Got it?"

"Right." Henry began to tiptoe towards the tree, scrunching his face as he pretended to concentrate. Michael sighed. This kid had a lot to learn.

Up close, the tree looked to be about twenty feet tall. Its trunk was enormous, so that if a person hugged it their fingers wouldn’t come close to touching. Michael crept beneath its canopy, keeping his net at his side. Beneath the shade of the branches, the grass was cool and thick.

Henry approached, and Michael pressed his back against the trunk, using his peripherals as much as he could. From somewhere nearby, he could hear the crinkle of leaves. Lots of them. His heart began to pound.

They remained still for a few minutes. The sounds came and went with alternating loudness, but when Michael looked up, he could only see shadows.

Out of nowhere, Henry let out a gasp.

"Look!"

Michael reacted instantly. He looked up, fleetingly able to see a small dark figure leap down from a branch. With trained coordination, he swung the net over his head and let it fall to the ground, trapping the pokémon within.

"You got it!" Henry grinned.

The net rocked and jumped as the pokémon struggled against its new prison. Michael approached it, panting. Through the netting, he could see the outline of a tiny body, wings, and beak.

"What the hell? It's just a Starly!"

"What do you mean? That's good." Henry watched as the bird continued to screech and beat its wings.

"Starlies are flying types, dur hur. That won't help us in the Gym at all."

Henry's face fell. "Well... if a hurricane made a plant fall down, wouldn't that kill it?"

"If I ripped it out of the ground myself, that would kill it too. Don't overthink." Michael grasped the tip of the net and lifted it a little.

"Wait, wait, you're just gonna let it go?"

"Yeah."

"But why?"

Michael looked over to Henry, who was biting his lip. "Because it's of no use. It won't help us at all."

"I still say we should keep it. It could come in handy."

"No," he said again. "I'm not keeping it."

"Fine, then I will." Henry kneeled down beside the Starly. "I'll carry it around and stuff so you won't have to. I have a spare pokéball."

Michael sighed, resigned. "Whatever." He handed the net to Henry, who carefully sealed its opening. The Starly continued to fidget.

Michael went back over to the tree and sat down against it. "Snack?" He held up a candy bar.

Henry looked at it for a moment. "Uh..."

"Come on. They give you energy."

"Well... okay. One time can't hurt, right?"

Michael tossed a bar over to Henry, then took one for himself. He sat under the tree for a while, watching the clouds in between bites of milk chocolate and caramel. When he reached back into his snack pocket, Michael was alarmed to discover that his supply was running out. He had only three Taffy chews left, some bubble gum, and a Hershey bar. At the rate he was going, all the candy he had brought from home would be gone in three days. And for some reason, it made him feel strangely lonely.

He sat there, one arm resting on his bent knee, while Henry munched on the bar beside him.

“This is really good! If it were healthy, I’d eat it all day!” Henry wiped his face with the heel of his hand and stuffed the empty wrapper into his pocket. He had wolfed down the bar in less than a minute. “All right! I’m ready to go. So are we gonna go looking again? There might be a fire type around here somewhere. I bet they’re just hiding.” He clapped his hands and stumbled backwards, looking up at the tree’s canopy.

Michael looked at him, then back up at nothing. “Yeah.” But he didn’t move. Henry slung his tote bag over his shoulder and began to walk off, and a few moments later, Michael went to join him.

They followed the river back to their starting point. The fisherman was getting ready to leave. His toolkit was closed, and the buckets were arranged in a row, all filled to the brim. When he saw the boys, he snapped his fingers.

“Great! Just in time. I’ll take that back now.” He reached for the net, but Michael hesitated.

“We still need it. Sorry, we’re trying to catch a pokémon and it’s taking longer than usual.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Well I’d love to help, but that happens to be my good net, and I need it for tomorrow’s session.”

“You fish every day?” Michael said. “Don’t you ever take a break? You know, for your life?”

“Didn’t I tell you I have a shop to run? When you’re in the business, fishing is your life, whether you like it or not. And Eterna’s not a bad spot, mind you. Sure it’s no Pastoria, but the forest’s got all kinds of weird things cropping up all the time. Here.” He heaved a bucket from the ground. “Just now, while you two were gone, I caught this...”

He reached into the bucket with his bare hand, pushing aside the bodies with sick, slimy noises. The man took one out and held it in front of Michael’s face.

“Look at it! Look! Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

The pokémon that dangled from his fingers was a pale blue. Its eyes were glazed and its long, narrow snout hung limp like a noodle. It was a Horsea, but unlike any other Michael had seen. This one was bigger, fatter, and there was a slightly different shape to its head and fins. Even its scales seemed different from the tiny, round dots he had seen in the school aquarium.

“What is that?” Henry marveled. He reached out to touch it, but the fisherman yanked it back.

“Nah-ah. No fingers.”

“It looks like a Horsea,” Michael said.

“Yes, but it’s not! It’s a new pokémon, I’m telling ya!” He grinned. “Yep, wait ‘till everyone hears. I’ve discovered a new pokémon species, and it’ll only be sold in my shop. I’ll be rich!”

“But how can you prove it’s a new species? It might just be a Horsea whose growth spurt went out of wack.”

The man lifted a finger. “Ah, but it’s not a Horsea. How do I know? Look.” He brought the body close again, and spread the flesh near its neck to reveal an incision in the skin. “The meat is white. Horsea meat is pink. Always pink. Ask any expert on seafood and he’ll tell you that.” He placed the pokémon back into the bucket. “Well, I’m off boys. And seriously, I need the net.”

After a brief pause, Michael handed it to him. The man smiled. “Sorry. Better luck next time, eh?” He started off, but after a few steps he looked back. “Oh, and if you’re having trouble, I’d get one of those pokéballs. I heard they’re pretty reliable.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Michael said through his teeth.

“So long! Off to make millions.” The man laughed again, and strode off towards town.

When he was gone, Henry puffed out his cheeks and let out a sigh. “Great. Now we have nothing to hunt with.”

“We’re screwed,” Michael said simply. “We have absolutely no plan, no pokémon, and no time.”

“We could always use our bare hands,” Henry suggested.

“Yeah, that’ll take even longer. Let’s just go home.”

“Home?”

“Bertha’s house. Whatever.” Michael started back the way they came. Henry fell into step behind him, and they were silent.



//////



When they got back to Bertha’s house, they were awaited with a lit kitchen and a full dinner table. Bertha was sitting at the end, and looked up as the boys entered. She cringed a little when they dropped their backpacks against the wall, but nevertheless her smile remained.

“You might want to wash your hands first,” she said. “And close it, before you let the flies in.”

She was talking to Michael, who had gaped at the sight of three perfect bowls of pasta, topped with a circle of marinara and adorned with tall glasses of juice. Besides the main course, there was also a salad, and three hot rolls in a basket. A basket. He and Henry slowly rounded the table. Even with the food so close he could taste it, Michael still couldn’t believe it.

“Is this all for us?” His eyes rested on each dish one by one, delving into a world of color.

“Who else?” Bertha laughed. “And if you were going to say me, then you better watch it, skinny.”

Michael pulled back a chair to sit, but Henry pulled him back. “Not yet, we have to wash our hands first.”

Michael grumbled, but stepped away.

“You can use that one over there.” Bertha pointed to the kitchen sink. The boys washed their hands, then took their seats.

Henry immediately dove in. He spun threads of pasta on his fork, slathered them with marinara, then shoved them into his mouth, pausing every so often for a gulp of juice. Michael watched Bertha eat as well; she and Henry took turns with the salad, weighing each spoonful before placing it on their plates, then bit by bit working through the piles until they disappeared.

Hands tore at the bread, forks clattered, and the mounds of food grew smaller and smaller. All the while, Michael sat with his head slightly lowered, staring at the spot of red sauce on his spaghetti till the color burned in his eyes.

“Bertha, you’re a really good cook!” Henry began after a swallow. “You make salads just like my mom. Only you know what she does?”

“What?” Bertha said. She was twisting another clump of noodles around her fork.

“She adds some spices right before she tosses. That gives it a lot of flavor. She uses different spices for different types of salads. Even egg salad, once. I thought it would taste really weird, but it actually tasted amazing!”

“Well that’s interesting. I’ll have to try that. Was you mom a cook or something?”

Henry shook his head. “No, we had a cook. He did basically everything, but my mom always made the salads no matter what. They were her specialty.”

Bertha smiled. “All my mother did was cook. She usually stuck with desserts, though. Those were her territory. What she was really good at was baking pies.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Apple, cherry, blueberry, anything you can think of. She even invented her own sometimes, mixing flavors like mango and raspberry. We had a little bake shop that my friends and I helped out with in the summer. She wrote down all her recipes in a little cookbook and gave it to me for my birthday one year.”

Henry looked up, his eyes gleaming. “Do you still bake pies?”

Bertha tilted her head to the side. “Hmm... why?”

“Well...”

“You want one?”

Henry began to laugh. “Yeah. Sorry, all the talk about dessert made me want some.”

“I haven’t baked in a while, though I suppose I could start again. Here. I’ll make you a deal—if you win the battle, I’ll bake you a pie. If you don’t, I won’t. Or better yet, I’ll bake one and eat it myself.”

“Hey!”

They both laughed. After a while, they stopped, then turned to Michael. He hadn’t touched his food.

“What’s the matter?” Bertha said. “You sick?”

“Are you going to eat your bread?” Henry’s fingers jumped to the rim of the basket.

To both, Michael shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”

Henry pulled the bread to his plate and began to nibble on it. Halfway, he stopped and put it down, his face betraying the tiniest bit of guilt.

“Are you sure?” Bertha continued to look at him. “If you’re not hungry, you can leave. I won’t mind.”

Michael shook his head. In fact, he was hungry, and with such a lavish meal within arm’s reach, he felt the pang like never before. He had never seen such a table, not even at home, where his own mother was the cook and often messed things up, in more ways than one.

Several years before, (he had no idea why this memory was springing forward now, but it was too late to stop it) he had been sitting at dinner with his mother. Richard had vanished, Brian was off to school, and it was just the two of them, slurping noodles and watching the clock tick.

“So how was school?” Patricia had asked.

Michael had replied with the usual, that ancient, time-tested phrase that was more or less guaranteed to get an annoying subject off your back. “Fine.”

In reality, the day had been less to his liking. He had gotten a D on a test (he did somewhat care about his grades, regardless of what everyone else thought) and the paper was sitting in his backpack, awaiting a parent signature he’d probably ask Brendan to forge later the next day. Their new science teacher, the replacement for the one who had retired, was almost abusively strict and ran her classroom like a military camp.

And Michael Rowan was one of her favorite students.

He had passed her first assignment with flying colors, and the other competitors for ‘top of the class’ included Lola Brown and Carl Rogers—soon to be the class nerds.

Michael knew he wasn’t stupid, but it made him angry that he should automatically be lumped into a category he didn’t want to be in. He had gone to the Jubilife School for Young Children since kindergarten, as had his brothers in their own times, and the Rowan family had a mixed reputation. Brian was, of course, the brain. Richard was the ne’er-do-well. And he? Michael was both... and neither.

During their dinners together, Michael and his mother rarely talked. (To the contrary of what Patricia would later say in a certain interview with a teacher.) Their relationship was strictly grounded upon survival—if there was food and TV, they could get along peacefully, minimal contact creating minimal friction, so they could slip past each other’s lives without disturbance.

So to sum it all up, and to close another long loop of thought which Michael’s mind created intermittently and without warning throughout his life, he was stuck. He now sat at another dinner table, in another house and with other company, but for some reason the sight brought him all the way back, to the empty years when his life had been a waste.

It had been a long time since he had sat with his family at dinner. A long, long time.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ July 3rd, 2011 5:07 AM

It's been awhile, hasn't it?

You're right, not much happens this chapter, but what does happen is nicely executed. And it's interesting for the reason that it shows how much more advanced Pokemon research has come in the past 40 or so years. Today, we all know that the heavily mutated Horsea is an evolved form called Seadra and that flying types destroy grass-types, but that was all unknown back then. And I bet that old fisherman did make a few bucks with his discovery... unless someone else beat him to it, that is xD And in a way, it could also explain why evolved forms of certain Pokemon are sometimes discovered later... someone just happens upon one of the new forms, wonders what the heck it is, and reports it to a scientist.

And not-so-pleasant memories of Michael's past life... it's a bit like my own. I don't talk much with my parents except when I have to, and dinner is filled with awkward silences and conversations that I usually don't want anything to do with and that frequently end with me getting yelled at... Believe me, I won't miss family dinner at all...

I liked this chapter for what it is... a short filler chapter that's building up to possible new discoveries and an important impending gym battle. I'll be looking forward to the next installment :)

Haruka of Hoenn July 3rd, 2011 7:52 AM

Yeah, it's been a while :P Good to see you're still here.

And yes, the fisherman will be making quite a bit of money off his new discovery... more on that in the next chapters. Michael and Henry will also get a rude awakening about the whole Flying/Grass thing too. But I won't say much more...

Next chapter will be posted soon, so don't stray off yet! Thanks for reviewing!

Haruka of Hoenn July 7th, 2011 7:26 AM

Here's chapter thirteen, everyone. Hope you like it!


A note before we begin: In one scene, you'll find Bertha talking to some people about chemicals. I'm not a chemistry major, nor do I intend to be, so I don't get too detailed in the names. I use the term 'fluorine compound' loosely, so if any of you happen to be learned in chemistry and think its placement here is completely bogus, know that I just use it for literary purposes. If it's that bad, then feel free to tell me how to make it better. :P

That is all.


1.3

The next morning, a thin layer of fog hung over the town. Michael and Henry had slipped out of bed early, and by the time the sun showed, they were in Route 205, walking in the generous shade of the trees along the path they had traced the previous day.

The Starly they captured had remained obedient, thanks to a spare pokéball Henry happened upon in his bag. The previous night, he had captured it and made it his own. The Starly was now perched snugly on Henry’s arm, where it pruned its feathers with its beak and squawked every so often.

They had practiced with what they had, shouting commands back-and-forth and directing the attacks towards trees. Their lack of a fire type still worried Michael, and he wasn’t sure if he could devise a good plan without one. He had brought his chart along, and managed to take down some notes. So far, their circumstances looked pretty bleak. He didn’t even know what pokémon Bertha had.

They were now walking back to her house, Michael in the lead. His stomach was beginning to rumble, and after the previous night’s dinner, he was eager to see what she would have for breakfast.

When they got to the house, however, what Michael saw surprised him. Bertha was stepping down from the porch, dressed in a stiff, formal dress, and carrying a large handbag that could only mean she was going somewhere.

When she saw them, Bertha paused mid-step, lips parted. “Boys? What are you doing? I thought you were still sleeping.”

“We went out early to train,” Michael said. “Where are you going?”

Bertha zipped open the purse and placed her keys inside. “That’s not important. But I’m leaving you two in charge of the house while I’m gone, okay? Make breakfast, but clean up after you’re done. I have pancake mix, eggs, anything you like. Cereal’s in the pantry. Got that?”

Michael and Henry nodded.

“Great. I’m off then. Don’t burn the place down.” She winked, and walked off.

“Wait!” Michael said. “What about the battle?”

Bertha turned around. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll only be about two hours. Two-and-a half tops. What you should be thinking about is a plan! Remember, I’m not easy to beat.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Bye.” Bertha waved, then went on her way. Michael entered the house, going immediately to the kitchen to get the pancake mix from the pantry.

“So she’s leaving the whole house to us?” Henry said. He looked around in wonder.

“Yep. Two hours all to ourselves.” Michael turned the box over and read the back cover. He had never tried to cook before, and almost all early childhood attempts at make brownies had resulted in failure, mostly due to his lack of patience when it came to the baking part. Richard would often sabotage the liquid mix while it was still in the oven, leaving next to nothing when Michael took it back out.

“Well, we should probably get started,” Michael said. “Do you know how to make pancakes?”

Henry shrugged. “No. Just follow the instructions, I guess?”

Michael read the label again. “It says I need an egg, butter, half-cup of milk, and one cup of mix. Can you get all that?”

“Hey, why me?”

“Because I’m the director of this project, and you’re the one who gets things done.” Michael had said this completely seriously, but he couldn’t help but smile at his own tone.

Henry obliged, and placed the gathered ingredients onto the counter. For the next few minutes, the boys struggled with the ingredients, opening packages, tossing scraps into the waste basket, and stirring the liquid mix with a beater Michael had found in one of the many kitchen drawers. The sink was soon filled with piles of dirty dishes and utensils, as he and Henry sampled and measured the ingredients.

When the time finally came to ready the stove, Henry approached with a heat-resistant glove on (Michael told him not to be a sissy, but he didn’t listen) and carefully buttered the skillet. They ladled the mix in parts, flipping the pancakes until they were brown on both sides, and divided them onto plates.

They sat down at the dining table twenty minutes later. Michael took a bite out of the finished product, and was pleased when it tasted all right.

“She has a really pretty house,” Henry commented from the other chair. In the morning, the sunlight scattered around the walls, and seemed to light the kitchen up from the inside.

“Yeah, I guess.” Michael looked around. Bertha had a fireplace, and it faced the kitchen from a small anteroom that accommodated an armchair. There were photographs on her mantle, but what Michael’s eyes lingered on was a small metal tray at the center. It was made of black wire, though he could see what it contained—three silver balls.

He got up.

“Where are you going?” Henry lowered his fork.

“I think this is where she keeps her pokémon,” Michael said. He approached the mantle. Sure enough, there were pokéballs in the tray, winking at him in the light. He took one into his hands, and smiled.

“Wait!” Henry ran after him. “I don’t think we should be touching them.”

“Why not? Think about it. We have the whole battle in our hands right here.” He held up two pokéballs. “If we could release them and take a look, I could get a better idea of what their types are, and how to counter them! It’s a total save!”

“I don’t know. Bertha’s really nice, and it wouldn’t be right to snoop around while we’re guests in her home. It’s cheating.”

“Please. If she really didn’t want us to look, she’d have taken them with her when she left.” He twisted the knob on the first one, but Henry grabbed his wrist.

“No!”

Michael pulled away. “Let go!”

“It’s not right!”

“Don’t be a baby. She won’t even know we looked. We’ll just put them back exactly as we found them.”

Henry crossed his arms and turned away. “Fine. You can look, but I won’t.”

“Suit yourself.” Michael unscrewed the knob and shut his eyes against the burst of light that followed. When it faded, he looked down.

A Turtwig lay at his feet, shaking itself awake. Its back was to Michael, and for the first few seconds, it stared at the opposite wall in confusion. Then it turned around to face him.

From the side, Henry looked over his shoulder. “A Turtwig!” he said. The curiosity was edging back into his face, though he did not move as Michael kneeled down and looked at it. The Turtwig had realized that Michael was not its trainer, and was looking at him with its head cocked to the side.

“These things are everywhere,” Michael murmured. “I don’t think there’s anything special about this one, do you?”

Henry shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it. And well, it’s not different-colored like yours.”

“Let’s just hope it can’t shoot a sonic boom out of its mouth,” Michael said, and returned it back into the pokéball. “Why else would a Gym leader have a Turtwig?”

He swapped the pokéball for another, and opened the second. Out came a Cherrim. The pokémon had been sleeping too, and its petals were still folded in a shell around it.

“Hey, it’s a Cherrim!” Henry said. “Like the ones we saw on the bushes the other day.”

“They’re grass types too,” Michael said. “Still no surprises.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard, though, right?”

“Don’t know. Have you ever seen a Cherrim battle?”

Henry shook his head.

“Well then, I guess we will tonight.” Michael called the sleeping Cherrim back inside, and took down the final pokéball.

He opened it, shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, they instantly widened in surprise.

“Whoa!” Henry slid down to the floor for a closer look. “What is that?”

“It’s a Roselia,” Michael said, though he himself wasn’t so sure. The pokémon that had appeared was bigger and bulkier than any Roselia he had ever seen. The pokémon had a tuft of white hair growing from the crown of its head, and some more forming a ring around its neck. Its head was rounder, and the blooms at the end of each arm were larger and frillier.

“I mean... it looks like one, but—”

“But its growth spurt went out of wack?” Henry looked at him. Coming from his mouth, Michael’s words took on a new light.

The Roselia-thing was looking at them in confusion, probably wondering why these two random kids were staring and chattering at it. Michael reached out to stroke its head. The thing permitted the contact, but never took its eyes off him. The hair on its head was soft and wispy.

“Maybe it’s the factory again,” Henry said. “You know, all those chemicals everywhere could be causing mutations. Remember the Horsea in the river?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah...”

“Well, that’s enough looking I think.” Henry snatched the pokéball from Michael’s hands and returned the Roselia-thing. He placed the pokéball back on the mantle. “So are you gonna add them to the chart? They’re all grass types, so we only have to think of one counter.”

Michael was still on his knees, staring up at the window. “But the mutation. How could a Roselia change like that? If it’s from the chemicals, I bet you that its appearance wasn’t the only thing they altered.”

“Well, we could ask Bertha about it,” Henry said. “But that would kinda give us away.”

“We don’t have to ask her. I have a better idea.” He got up and went back to the kitchen. Henry followed.

“We’re going to find out more about these mutations,” Michael said. He took his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”



//////



The Eterna Courthouse was the town’s oldest standing building. It had been built in 1704, a date which was engraved on a gold plaque right above its giant wooden doors. The building itself was huge, with a giant bell and prim-faced statues flanking its sides.

A few years ago, a restoration project had reinforced it with steel beams and replaced the roof with shingles, but other than that the building’s original architecture remained untouched. The imaginative mind would fill its seats with juries, its podiums with wig-wearing judges, and the cells of its tiny jail with stooping prisoners.

But aside from being a tourist attraction, the building itself served little purpose. Crime had never been a pastime in Eterna as far as Bertha knew, and she would often spot the sheriff walking around with an apple, his handcuffs clacking emptily against his belt as he searched for something to do with himself.

Bertha pushed open the double doors and went inside. The interior of the courthouse was almost entirely made of wood, and the main feature was a pair of stairs that stood on either end of the lobby, leading up to the balconies. It was not the stairway that she turned to, however. Bertha went immediately to a side door—one that was plain and mostly unnoticeable against the wall—and stepped through into a tiny, musty room.

The room’s only piece of furniture was a large wooden table, one that took up almost all the space and left only a little wiggle room for chairs. Three men sat behind it, through there was enough space between them to affirm that they were not together. The man on the left was dressed in full business attire, and his hair had that wet, gelled-back look that made him look suspiciously fish-like. The man in the middle wore a simple shirt and tie, without any other accessories. The last man had abandoned formality altogether, sitting quite comfortably in a t-shirt and jeans.

The men had all been staring in separate directions, each perhaps going off on his own trail of thought, but when Bertha stepped through the door, their eyes locked on her.

Bertha lowered her purse onto the table, but did not sit down. She gave a curt nod. “Hello.”

The man in the t-shirt nodded back. “Hello, Bertha. Glad you could make it.” He attempted a smile, but it quickly faded, and the room returned to its previous gloom.

After a brief pause, the man in the middle spoke. “All right, we’re all here, now let’s get to the point. What’s the problem and why’ve you called us here?”

“You know what the problem is,” Bertha said. “The whole town knows it. We see it every day when we look north.”

“If you’re talking about the factory—”

“Yes! I’m talking about the factory, Darrel! That thing’s been a problem since the day it got put up, and it’s getting worse and worse every day.”

“To my knowledge,” the man in the suit cut in, “everything’s been fine up to this point. I don’t understand where your complaints suddenly came from.”

“That’s because you live by Cycling Road. Of course you don’t have any complaints, because you’re not the one who’s up all night not able to get a wink of sleep while there’s a fucking earthquake in your backyard!” This last shout had been loud, and Bertha felt a tiny ripple of pain in her throat. She suppressed a cough. She had planned to start off calm, but apparently her control wasn’t with her today.

“If the noise is so bad, why hasn’t anyone complained?” Darrel said. “Surely if it was an issue worth pointing out, somebody would have said something in... oh I don’t know, the past year or so?”

“Oh, they have. I personally went around and gathered these statements.” Bertha took a folder from her purse and opened it. She took out a single paper and laid it down on the table. “You might know Mrs. Danbury, the lady who keeps a berry farm right by the forest. She used to be able to bring basketfuls of Orans and Spelons to the market. Now, every other season of crops ends up dropping dead. Look.”

The men leaned in closer. Clipped to the papers was a photograph of a field, each bush dotted with berries of various colors. Everything was covered in a white Christmas of tiny flakes.

“I took that picture last year, in July. All the plants from that season ended up shriveling, and Mrs. Danbury said that she couldn’t plant anything in the soil for over five months. Then there’s this.” Bertha took out another paper-clipped stack that she placed on top of the first one. “This is a medical report. The Eburway’s kids all got sick a few months ago. Headaches, dizziness, weak bones, and lots of coughing. Before that, they were in perfect health. They played in the meadow every afternoon, but now they can hardly walk.”

Devon looked at all this, and shook his head. “So? It’s illusion of correlation. Maybe it was a blight that killed Mrs. Danbury’s plants. Maybe the Eburway kids have inherent disabilities. Maybe the flakes are the result of insecticides. There are hundreds of factors that can be in play. What makes you think the factory is the one behind all this?”

Bertha’s face tightened. “Don’t think I haven’t done my research! I keep a garden of my own, right by the meadow, and every time a breeze comes around from the factory’s direction, I see those flakes. If the wind’s strong enough, they’ll get into the streets too, and slip in through the cracks in people’s doors!”

“It’s a baseless assumption!” he protested. “You can’t possibly prove that the flakes are coming from the factory from the simple observation that they come from its direction.”

“Then maybe you’d like to explain why there were none before?”

“This problem could easily be solved by chemical testing,” said Darrel. “We need to know exactly what the flakes are in terms of chemical structure.”

“Way ahead of you.” Bertha placed yet another sheet of paper onto the table. “They’re a fluorine compound, which is produced under extreme conditions when certain gases are mixed. Now I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine anywhere in Eterna where people mix gases for a living.”

Thomas exhaled. “Bertha, I’d love to believe you, but unless we know the factory’s exact chemical procedure, we can’t safely assume that they’re the cause of this.”

“And besides,” Devon said. “They are making computer parts. I’ve done my fair share of reading, and I can say that nowhere in that process is a fluorine compound used.”

“Then they must be making something else,” Bertha said.

“Look, we could argue about this all day,” Darrel said. “Bertha, you get us real, solid proof that these flakes are coming from the factory and nowhere else, and then we’ll be happy to talk with you. But until then, goodbye.” He gave her a casual little wave, but Bertha did not move.

She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, trying to keep her voice steady. “You guys are the heads. Of. Council. You have got to stop living in this dream, where everything’s going great and the town’s this perfect picture of happiness, because it’s not. I know things have been pretty smooth for us before; you can ask anyone else who’s lived here since they were a kid and they’ll tell you the same. We’ve gotten away with hiding from the world for a damn good while, but now’s the time to come out. This factory is the perfect example. Out there,” Bertha stretched out her hand panning it across a general direction, “past our little farms and houses, is a world that’s moving forward. We can either step up and move along with it, or get sucked dry by assholes like them.”

“We’ve maintained amiable relations with Galactic so far,” Devon said. “Hell, they’re helping us. Without the twenty-grand bonus they pay us every year, we’d have gone bankrupt a long time ago.”

At this, Bertha lost all poise and control. She threw her head back and began to laugh, clutching her stomach as she gasped and shook. The men watched as she stumbled back, hit the door, and came back to the table, wiping her eyes.

“I really don’t see anything funny—” Devon began.

“Oh, look around!” Bertha cried. “That damn company is sucking us dry! Every year, when we’re supposedly getting our bonus, our streets crack and the houses rot on their foundations! I’ve been trying to get a Gym built here for months now. Months! Do you know what that means for me, being a Gym leader? It means that I have no facility. I have to conduct battles in a basement, for God’s sake! Trainers go through hell and back trying to find the place, and then they have nowhere to stay too, so I have to give them any extra room I can spare and give them the food off my own plate so they don’t starve! I wouldn’t mind it either, if it were necessary. But it’s not. Go to any Gym town in Sinnoh, and you’ll see huge, beautiful Gyms and luxury hotel rooms. And what do I have? Garbage!” She slapped the table, and let the silence hang for a moment.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re spending that money on, but if it’s more important to you than our town’s image and success, then please tell me what it is so I won’t have to waste my time on this anymore. Celestic’s been wanting a Gym standing for a while now. Maybe I should give ours to them.”

For the first time that morning, the three men exchanged a single glance.

“Galactic is eating right out of our plates,” Bertha pressed, “and we’re not doing anything about it. This ‘business deal’ you have going on is killing us. Not only that; it’s practically killing the Pokémon League. There hasn’t been a single Gym repair or full trainer scholarship since Galactic rose to power.”

“All right, so what do you want us to do?” said Devon. “You want us to go in there with torches and pitchforks? Maybe form a mob or some protest rally, demanding that they leave?”

“Diplomacy isn’t exactly working either, if you haven’t noticed already.” Bertha pulled out a stack of letters from her purse. The rubber band that held them together was pulled thin. “I’ve written to them a thousand times, and all I get are stupid delays; morons trying to bide time and stretch words.”

Darrel looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “Have you written to Thealus?”

“If the henchmen haven’t given me anything, what makes you think their boss will? Sure, I can spend the rest of my life writing to Veilstone, waiting month after month on some false hope that someone will hear me. But why should I? Galactic’s shown me that it can’t negotiate. Either that, or it doesn’t want to. Now, they can go to some other industrialized town and by all means spew their nonsense there. But not here.” She took a breath, and continued. “I want to settle this as peacefully as possible. I’m planning on starting a petition. If I get the signature of all the Gym leaders plus a backing from the Gym towns themselves, then maybe, just maybe, that old coot will hear us. By all means, I want Galactic and the League to coexist. Is it possible? I think it is. And maybe we can. But we’ll never know for sure if the only person trying to do something is me.”

She stepped back away from the table and crossed her arms, a gesture she hoped would tell the men that it was all up to them now. They looked to each other again, and whispered back and forth for a while.

Finally, they parted. Thomas was the first to look up. “All right. We’ll back your petition.”

“But I beg you, be careful!” Devon cut in. “We can’t make a public scene of this. These are very strenuous times, and if we make one wrong move, it could destroy us! Galactic is what’s moving the country forward, improving millions of lives, and if we throw mud at their image, the consequences could be disastrous!”

Bertha smiled. “Disastrous? Who the hell cares about some tiny farm town?”



//////



On the subject of Team Galactic’s boss, Thealus Blue, little is actually known. To Bertha, he is a faceless entity hiding behind a letterhead, as two-dimensional as the stamped logo of his corporation. To the rest of Sinnoh, he’s the inner mechanism of the Space Race, the mystical force that turns the wheels of progress.

The associates of Team Galactic never communicate with their boss, yet strangely, his presence can be felt everywhere. Behind the company’s logo is a story, they say, though the man who wrote it has been lost to the ages. The few who are lucky enough to be in daily contact with Blue are as tight-lipped as he himself.

Thealus Blue made one public appearance in 1949, under a different name, while the Space Program was still in its first years of life. However, all recordings are now lost to history, and anybody seeking to contact him will get the address of a P.O. box in Veilstone, a bleak, dead end.



//////



“Hey! Sir, wait! Wait up!”

The crowds of the Eterna marketplace parted as a woman pushed her way through, leading with an arm stretched high over her face. In her hand she clutched a microphone, pathetically offering it to the air while she trudged through the tents and stands. A bulky cameraman trailed after her, and as they neared, all people within a ten-foot radius scurried away, baskets pressed to their chests. Their eyes lingered on the giant, gleaming device balanced on the man’s shoulder, and the speakers that protruded like menacing horns above the lens. As the woman plowed relentlessly forward, he scurried in her wake, shooting quick glances of apology to the people she shoved aside.

The woman paid them all no mind, for her hawk-like gaze was fixed on something in the distance. It captivated her whole attention, blocking out everything else around her. She was the image of exhaustion—skirt splattered with mud, hair disheveled, press badge hanging askew, and yet she still managed to hold onto a businesslike composure that set her apart as a professional. She waded through the crowd as if through water.

“Can you see him? Can you see him?” The cameraman strained to look over her shoulder.

“He went behind a stand,” said the woman. “Shit, this guy’s good.”

“You know, I think we’re being too obvious,” said the cameraman. He looked to the side, just as a group of shoppers turned away, muttering. “Can we at least lose the equipment? The camera just gives it all away.”

The woman shook her head. “No. He already knows our faces. We’ll just have to be fast.”

A man, seemingly from nowhere, presently stumbled onto the path with an armful of fruit. The woman wedged herself in front of him, bumping him against a pole.

“Move it!”

The man doubled over with a grunt, and the fruit spilled over into the dirt. The cameraman stepped around and hastily picked them up.

“Sorry! Sorry. She didn’t mean it. She’s usually really nice, it’s just that—“

“NED, GET OVER HERE!”

“Coming, coming! Here.” He shoved the fruit into the man’s hands and scurried off, leaving the unlucky patron to his own devices.

Ned hobbled over to the place where the woman was standing. They were at a crossroads within the marketplace, bordered on all sides by noise and movement.

“Nancy, how much longer is this gonna take?” said Ned. “My shoulder’s about to pop.”

“It doesn’t matter. He can’t run forever,” said Nancy.

“Well, neither can we...”

Nancy gritted her teeth. “We will if we have to. I don’t care if it takes the rest of the day. We’ll catch him.”

“We’ve been at this for half an hour, and all on the slim hope that this random guy will talk to us. But what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. Now will you help me look or not?”

They walked, and passed another booth. This one had a small circle of people around it, slowly growing. But despite the crowd, the salesman managed to lock eyes directly with Nancy. He waved.

“Hey, miss! Care to try the new Wonder Fish? Caught right here in Eterna, and only sixty cents a pound!” He held up a strip of pale meat.

Nancy bit her lip and kept walking. The best tactic to ignore a pesterer was to give them the cold shoulder. Once she affirmed that Ned was following along, she picked up the pace and began to search.

The market was nowhere near as packed as the city was, but it lacked an internal infrastructure, which made it all the more chaotic. What could have been a nice street block with sidewalks was a jumble of tents and stands, with people running about like ants in a hole. The grass was expired—uncut, and in some places, trampled down to dirt. But one of the things Nancy Bryan was good at was adapting, and adapt she would.

She panned across the scene, shielding her face from the light, trying to discern something among the hundred moving bodies. She had not seen the man’s face yet, but she had seen enough to pick him out of the crowd—tweed suit, hat, briefcase. A typical businessman, on a not-so-businesslike regime.

“Got him.” Nancy spoke without turning. The man had reappeared again, and was now retreating into a tent, the brown of his coat passing in and out of view. The briefcase, black and sleek, was held stiffly at his side.

The other shoppers—who either didn’t notice him or were too busy to care—moved out of his way as he literally cut a path through them.

“Where is he? I can’t see him.” Ned spun around in circles, bending under the weight of the camera.

“By the tent. Come on!” Nancy broke into a jog. She dodged her way through the tent, keeping the man in view. When she came upon him he was out in the open, slowing beside a meat booth.

Careful to stay quiet, Nancy jumped behind a nearby pile of crates. Ned followed suit, and they both peered over the top to get a better look.

The man had not noticed their approach. He was looking around at the stand, though he didn’t seem particularly interested in anything they were selling. He leaned over and muttered something to the salesperson, who chuckled.

Ned lifted the camera to his eye, closing in on the briefcase. “Whoa. Double-whammy. I wonder what he’s got in there...”

Nancy waved the camera away. “Not yet!”

Ignoring her, Ned continued to focus the lens. “No way. I’m getting shots of this.” The camera began to click.

At that moment, something in the man’s bearing changed. His shoulder’s stiffened, as if someone had blown cold air down on his neck. The man turned around slowly, and his eyes locked on the camera.

Nancy froze. A second later, she ducked back behind the crates, but by then it was too late. The man’s eyes widened, and then he walked off briskly in the opposite direction.

“You idiot!” Nancy slapped the camera away from Ned’s face. “He heard you!”

“Hey, relax! I just wanted a picture.”

Nancy rolled her eyes. She straightened, brushing crumbs of dirt from her white skirt. “Fine. Let’s go.”

They started forward again, following the man’s beeline through the marketplace. He continued to stop at several booths along the way, and did the same thing at each of them — paced, looked around, and left without a word. And no matter how crowded it was, every time the crew approached, the man would turn his head to the exact spot where they stood, look at them for a few seconds, then disappear again. He moved effortlessly, and even with all the effort in the world, still too quickly.

Nancy was exhausted. She began biting her lip again (which she swore she would never do again after a viewer had laughed at the red blotches), and pushed up the sleeves of her shirt periodically. Her eyes were restless, scanning the crowd for any sight of the man. Behind her, Ned paused frequently to rub his back, shifting the camera from one shoulder to the other.

When they finally overtook him, the man was well on his way towards the exit. Nancy ran up to the sidewalk, waving her microphone in the air like a flag. Her skin gleamed with sweat, and her hair stuck to her face and neck.

“Sir!” she called. “Wait!” The man turned around. The discombobulated crew of two pushed pulled themselves up onto the sidewalk. Nancy scampered over, blocking the man’s path before he could leave. “Sir! Can I get a moment?”

The man looked up, a sneer turning his lips, as if it had all been some game of chase. Nancy ran a finger through her hair and flashed a smile.

“Hi! My name is Nancy Bryan, and I’m with Sinnoh Now. I’m on the hunt for everything that’s hip and happening all across the country. I’d like to take no more than two minutes of your time to ask you a few questions. Is it true that Team Galactic is building something in the Eterna factory?” She thrust the microphone into the man’s face, and he shook his head.

“No comment.” He turned to leave, but Nancy jumped in front of him again.

“What’s the nature of this project?” she pressed. “Is it a new piece of technology?”

“I said no comment.” The man continued walking. Nancy Bryan followed, her voice rising.

“Is it an electronic device of some sort? A computer? A—”

“Enough!” The man pushed the microphone away with his fist, just inches away from hitting Nancy in the nose. “And get that blasted camera out of my face! If you even think about putting this on TV, I’ll put a million-dollar lawsuit on your heads! You hear? Go home!”

Nancy watched him leave, her shoulders drooped. Forgetting her businesslike composure, she hung her head like a child, letting the microphone dangle from her hand. “Turn it off, Ned.”

The cameraman lowered the device and placed a lens cap over the camera’s gaping eye. “Hey, no worries. At least we tried.”

“Tried doesn’t cut it!” Nancy snapped up, turning to face her companion. She tightened her grip on the microphone. “What’s wrong with me? Everywhere I go I get spat on like some creature! The SNN reporters don’t get half as much bullshit as I do, and their stories are crap!”

“Calm down,” said Ned. “I’m sure we’ll find a good one if we keep looking. No offense, but Eterna’s not the best place you could’ve picked.”

Nancy glared at him. “Gee thanks. Thanks a bunch. That really makes me feel better, you know, especially after I drove twenty miles over here, no air conditioning, the sun baking my skin like a freakin’ toaster, having to fix two flat tires along the way, and dealing with you and Tom singing karaoke songs in the back!”

Ned raised both hands in defense. “Nancy, just be rational. Team Galactic obviously doesn’t want to talk to us. That’s not worth beating ourselves up over. There are a lot of good stories out there, and I don’t see a point in spending the rest of eternity chasing this one.”

“No! Don’t you get it?” Nancy said. “Team Galactic has never done an interview before. Never! Just think of the credit we’d get if we got just a one-page story about them. A single sentence, even. But they won’t fucking let us in! I hate that!” She doubled over, and her eyes spilled over with tears. Wet mascara ran down her cheeks in little gobs. “I hate this! I just... I’m just so sick... and tired of constantly having to accept junk! You know that? And when you keep accepting junk over and over and over again, that’s what you become. My life is junk.” She buried her face in her hands. Pretty soon, her sobbing could be heard from within.

Ned patted her back. “Come on. Don’t cry, Nancy. Your life’s not junk.”

“Yes it is!” Nancy wrenched out of his grip. “I am sick of you and Tom and Bobby always bugging me about doing some random story. Yeah, sure, I could give up and just do a report on a supermarket scandal, what will I be doing different from the other hundred networks out there? That’s right, nothing! If I can’t get people to talk to me like I’m normal and the SNN people can, then my life is pointless! I might as well just go back home and stay there with a paper bag over my head.”

“It’s just one story. I really don’t think SNN will care if we do something else. They’re not expecting us to break ground — they just want to see that we can support ourselves.”

“No!” Nancy said. “That’s the thing — they don’t expect us to break ground. They don’t expect us to do anything. They want to watch us fail, which we will, so they can buy our network and leave us broke.” Her voice cracked, and she spilled a fresh downpour of tears into her palms.

“Relax. We’ll keep trying. What’s the deadline again?”

“J-J-July t-twenty-fifth...”

“Okay. That’s more than enough time. We’ll just have to think of a better way to talk to these people. No offense, but I think you come on too...”

Nancy looked up before he could finish. Her face was blotchy and streaked with ruined makeup. “Too what?”

Ned chuckled. “Never mind.”

Nancy wiped her eyes and yawned. “All this heat is making me hungry. Let’s get something to eat before we go.”

They went back into the marketplace and found the Wonder Fish stand. The man was still selling, and by the looks of it, selling well. People stood on all sides with fish sandwiches, filets, and still more fish wrapped in foil. Nancy made her way to the front of the line and dropped a pile of coins onto the counter.

“Two sandwiches please.”

The man smiled. “Coming right up!” He withdrew and came back moments later with two sandwiches wrapped in paper. “Tell your friends!” he called as she walked away.

On their way out of the marketplace, Nancy peeled away the wrapping and took a bite of the white meat. It was soft and tasted like... fish.

“Wow, this is really good!” said Ned. “Better than Horsea, in my opinion. I wonder what it is.”

“Not now, Ned. We have to think. How are we going to get a scoop on that factory in a month?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have time to think about it, though, right?”

“The point of all this is not to wait till the last minute!” Nancy ripped another chunk from her sandwich and chomped it down. “We’ve tried writing, and that failed. We’ve tried live interview. Failed. What else is there?”

Ned shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing left! I know for a fact that SNN is doing something else. They did a whole freaking segment about Fuego Ironworks. Fuego Ironworks, Ned. Those guys don’t just take live interview requests.”

“Are you kidding me? SNN practically snuck inside. There’s no other way they could have gotten pictures like that.”

All of a sudden, Nancy stopped. “Wait.”

“What?”

Nancy smiled. “I think there’s one option left for us.” She looked north, where she could see faint puffs of smoke from over the trees.

“What are you looking at?” Ned pressed.

Nancy ignored him. “Come on. We have to meet the others.” She stopped beside a garbage can and threw her sandwich away before moving on.



That morning, a beat-up van had been parked on the curb by the marketplace. A logo, pasted in bold letters on the side, read: Jubilfe TV. The van was bulky and dirty, something that would be the subject of ridicule in most large cities, but here the sunlight gave its curves a pristine glow, a mighty symbol of innovation against the plain, undeveloped town.

Two men were leaning against the van’s side, sipping Coca Cola and staring absently into space. One wore a baseball cap, its visor lowered over his face. The second stared lazily up at the trees. A cart with various sound equipment stood between them.

“This place is such a bore,” said the first man, lifting the visor to rub his eyes.

“Tell me about it. This place is practically a jungle. I haven’t seen this many trees in, like, ever.”

“More than Jubilife Park, you think?”

The second man took a sip from the can and waved his hand. “Nah, this place puts Jubilife Park to shame.”

Both men began to laugh. The moment was as fleeting as the breeze, and then they settled back into an awkward silence. The trees seemed to soak up every attempt at conversation, leaving nothing to do but stare at one’s shoes. Even the Starly which they often spotted passed by without a sound, as if silence was a community rule.

“That’s it, I can’t take it anymore.” The man in the cap crushed the empty can in his fist. “I’m turning on some music.” He climbed into the van and started the engine. The radio came to life, and began to blast an upbeat song through the empty street.

He came around and slumped back beside the van. “That’s better.”

“Aw come on, that’s all that station ever plays. Be a man, would you?”

Bobby grinned. “Fine.” He went back to the van and turned the radio’s dial, scrolling through a string of random songs. He didn’t have time to settle on one, however, for when he stole a glance through the windshield, he saw Nancy and Ned coming up the road. Eterna was the only place in the world where you could cross the road without looking and not have to worry about being squashed.

“There they are!” He and Tom looked over as they approached. The pair looked as if they had walked for miles—their clothes were stained with dirt, and Nancy had two black lines streaking down her cheeks.

“Whoa, Nancy, what happened to your face?” said Tom.

“Later,” Nancy said. “Come on, we’re packing up. Get the sound equipment and put it in the back.”

Ned opened the van’s double doors and placed the camera inside its holder. Bobby and Tom lifted the cart.

“Well, did you get the story?” said Bobby. “Did that Team Galactic guy talk to you?”

“Not yet. But I have a plan.”

“What plan?”

“I’ll tell you as we go.”

Nancy climbed into the passenger seat and took a mirror and tissue from the glove compartment. She began to scrub her cheeks, succeeding in removing most of the mascara and leaving the rest in two circular smears. She’d take care of those later. Nancy dabbed her shoulders and chest, which had become moist with perspiration during her run.

As the rest of the crew climbed in the van, she cradled her head in her hands and took a slow, deep breath, a calming routine she had developed over many years in the business.

Relax. You can do this.

Tom closed the driver’s door and started the van. Nancy adjusted her mirror to check her hair. A-ok.

Behind her, the van’s window showed a slip of sidewalk sprinkled with leaves. Not long after the van pulled out of the curb, the figures of two boys could be seen strolling down the sidewalk.



//////



The fisherman’s stand was at the edge of the marketplace, an island surrounded by a small circle of people. Michael pushed his way to the front, and saw the man wearing an apron, holding up two wrapped packages.

“Two Wonder Fish sandwiches with lettuce? Anybody order two Wonder Fish sandwiches with lettuce?”

Someone held out their hands, and the man graciously exchanged the packages for a handful of bills.

When the man saw Michael, he grinned. “We meet again! I’m afraid if you want a sandwich, you’ll have to wait in line.” He indicated the mass of people in front of him.

“It’s okay,” said Michael. “We don’t want a sandwich. I was just wondering if you could give me one of those pokémon. Whole.”

The man’s eyes widened at the unusual request. “I’ll see what I can do, but you’ll have to wait in line.”

“But we don’t have — oh, fine.” Michael recognized a losing battle when he saw one. He edged himself into the mass of people, who struggled to arrange themselves in a line.

Apparently the meat had been a hit—everyone was leaving with two or more of those same sandwiches, happily eating them as they walked.

“That must be some meat,” said Henry. “I wonder what that pokémon was that he discovered.”

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

Several minutes passed before they got to the front of the line. The man beamed down at them.

“So what did you want again?”

“One of those pokémon,” Michael repeated. “No sandwich or anything. Just whole.”

The man wrinkled his nose. “What for?”

“What does it matter? We’re paying for it,” said Henry.

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic... all right.” The man withdrew and came out with a large mound of tinfoil. “Tell your friends!”

“But of course.” Michael faked a smile and hurried off.

Henry caught up with him. “Where are we going now?”

“We’re going to make a call to Sandgem Labs.”

Henry gaped. “Why?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

They hurried back to Bertha’s house and found a telephone in the living room. Michael bent down beside the table and picked up the receiver.

“How do you even know the lab’s number?” said Henry.

“You’d know a number too if your mother kept it pinned to the fridge for three years,” Michael said as he dialed.

The phone rang, and a breezy female voice answered him. “Hello! You have reached the office of Sandgem Labs, pioneering the field of pokémon research since 1866, this is Rebecca speaking, how may I assist you?”

“Hello,” Michael said. “I have a report to submit to Dr. Emerson, concerning a sighting of a new pokémon.”

The clerk paused. “What is your name?”

“Cory... uh, Hershey.”

Henry snickered.

“I’m sorry Mr... Hershey, but we don’t accept tips like these from callers. If you’d like, I can mail you a form that contains the instructions for a proper submission.”

“No!” Michael said. “Look. This is an emergency.”

“I am sorry, again, but there is nothing I can do. Protocol is protocol.”

Michael took a moment to think. “Okay. Okay, so can you tell me something else? I understand that... ah, that there’s a summer program going on in the lab sponsored by the professor?”

“...Yes,” the clerk answered stiffly. “But registration has closed, I’m afraid, as the program is already in session—”

“Yeah, I get that. It’s just that I know someone who is currently in the program. His name is Leroy, and I have an important message for him. Do you, by any chance, know his number or something so I can call him?”

“Even if I did, giving a personal number out to a third party is strictly against our policy. I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for this Leroy.” With that, she hung up. Michael slammed the phone back down and groaned.

“Why did you want to talk to Leroy?” asked Henry.

“I wanted to get him to report this to the professor.

Henry picked up the phone. “Hang on. Let me try something. What’s the number again?”

Michael told him, and Henry dialed. And waited.

“Hello?” said Henry. “Yes. Hi, my name is Henry McPherson.” He hesitated, but he was obviously doing this for effect. “Sorry, I um, thought that the professor would pick up. See, I went to get my starter from him yesterday, and I noticed a problem with it, and the professor told me I could call him anytime to ask a question. So if you don’t mind... could you forward me to him?”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. Henry smiled and winked. Whatever he was doing, it was working.

A second later, he beamed. “Hi, professor! It’s me, Henry, remember? No? Well that’s okay. You’ll remember Michael.” He quickly handed the phone to Michael, who brought it to his ear slowly.

“Uh... hello?”

The wheezy voice of Professor Emerson answered him. “Ah? Who is this?”

“It’s Michael Rowan. I have something important to tell you. It may change your life.” The professor paused. He didn’t hang up, so Michael continued. “See, while I was walking the other day by a river, I saw a weird pokémon. It was a Horsea, only it looked kind of different. Bigger, for one thing, and the meat was white instead of pink. Horsea meat is always pink, you know, so I knew it was a different pokémon.”

The professor seemed to be scratching his chin. “Did this pokémon have a longer, thicker snout, and were its fins larger?”

Michael opened the package. The description fit the bill. “Yep.”

“It’s a different pokémon. That’s a Seadra.”

“Is there any relation between the two?”

“Somewhat,” said the professor. “Though their physical structures may seem different, there are certain similarities in their DNA... but that’s too much to get into right now. I say it would be fine to use either in a battle. The Seadra does not present any powers significantly superior to the Horsea as far as we know. Good bye.” The professor seemed eager to hang up. Michael leaned back against the armchair.

“That guy sucks,” he said.

“What did he say?”

“Basically that it won’t make a difference if you use a Horsea or a Seadra—that’s the pokémon’s name—in a battle.”

Henry shrugged. “So... it’s a good thing then? Bertha’s Roselia could be one of those look-alikes too.”

“At any rate, I think he’s lying,” Michael said.

“Why?”

“Because, two different species don’t look similar just for the heck of it. Chrome Dome said that there were similarities in their DNA, and that means that they can’t be two completely different species.”

Henry just looked at him. “So what are you saying?”

“I think Bertha’s Roselia is like Horsea and Seadra. It’s the same as a Roselia... but not quite different.” Michael looked down at his shoes. “I don’t know what it means for the battle, though.”

“Me neither,” Henry said. “Let’s just hope it can’t shoot missiles out of its hands.”

moonlightning July 10th, 2011 12:27 PM

Hello Haruka! I know this is a bit (a bit? MAJORLY) of a late review for this seeing we’re so far in but I’d like to tell you what I thought of the story so far. As this is my first review on PC I intend to do a good job of it!

I decided to read because I really enjoyed your One-Shots but I never got a chance to review them. So here I am! (I’m at the end now and I realise the whole thing is praise. But constructive praise so meh, I think you’ll enjoy reading through and seeing all of the strange connections I’ve made. Also it’s rather long. Sorry I like to rant about things I enjoy. Don’t get me talking about Code Geass unless you have nothing to do for the next five hours.)

0.1

A really cool opening, it was nice to see Michael as rebellious and that is always how I imagined him in-game. He had a certain something the other professors lacked. The premise of delving into his back story hooked my own right away. I suppose he “caught” that Stunky in another way entirely :D . That scene was executed well but I was expecting a poison gas attack but it never came, it just started stinking really bad. Well done for leading me down a path and then twisting the other way. The description on his mother sitting in the conference was spot on, I knew exactly what you meant and I couldn’t help but smile when I imagined their expressions. Michael looking grumpy and his mother stiff and teary. Excellent work on this first chapter. Anyone reading should have progressed onto the next. (I sure did.)

0.2

Did I mention I love the way you do your chapter titles? Anyway, things are starting to pick up. His mothers repetition of the starter Pokemon was great especially when I imagined Michaels face when she kept saying them. I’m getting some great facial-visualisation from this fic. The lab scene was great and those kids made me really mad. They reminded me of when I had to take a karate class and the kids were acting up and I was feeling embarrassed and I yelled and them and they looked at me like I was evil and scary. Ooh, a defective starter aye? Nice touch with the shinyness being something he didn’t want. Instead of the “OMGZ SHINY STARTER LULZFEST!” which I never see nowadays BUT I CAN REMEMBER IT!

0.3

Haha, Do Not Disturb sign. Probably for doing speriments? Aah I hope they don’t do anything bad to that stunky. At the moment it is the most developed and my favorite Pokemon so far. Hungry eyes, I know what you mean. My cat gives me those all the time! “If it works on plants it must work on Pokemon.” I hate to break it to ya’ Corey but your logic is kind of screwed. (Unless it was a grass type pokemon.) I hate it that they aren’t treaty Stunky nicely because I get the feeling that it (he or she?) has a nice personality and could be really good friends with Michael. The space race was a nice way of finding the origins of the teams names. Although Team Rocket is a little unoriginal when compared to Galactic. Team Plasma would probably use a medieval catapult or something. :D The argument at the end between Michael and his mother was very powerful and I have a feeling he deserved and needed it. The sentence at the end was very sad and I refuse to believe they can’t mend the break in their bond. THEY MUST DO IT WITH THE POWER OF LOVE AND POKEMON! On that note, next chapter, great job on this one. (I got a little teary at the last line.)

0.4

Le gasp! Was that “bottom of the lake” mentioned as foreshadowing! I must read on to find out! Great way to open a chapter: Presenting something vaguely that may or may not come true and forcing the reader to endeavour to find out. (I bet I’m just making random connections though, I do that sometimes.) Example: N IS A ZOROARK!!!

New paragraph to focus myself. And then you make me all emotional with the epic pictures with captions and then the hospital room and then the sad, sad letter. I was very touched when I read it. It was a bit weird that his mother didn’t want him to mention Richard. That makes her character a bit crazy in my opinion. Maybe it would be best if her and Michael didn’t get back together but then again she always has the best intentions for him. Ack, you’ve got me feeling for the characters already. I see that his mother wants what she thinks is best for him, not actually what Michael wants. She’s trying her best but to Michael she just ruining his life. Breaking the vase pretty much assured me that he was running away and I don’t blame him. The verbal onslaught would just be horrific if his mother ever caught him. He needs to get a Poke’ Ball for that Stunky because carrying it about would be such a pain. Nice chapter and onto the next one!

0.5

Are the misshapen buildings a reference to the badly rendered buildings in game? Those sure look like they would fall over at any second. The way you described them rising above everything else on the natural hill was a nice touch and I knew exactly what you meant. The description of the main walkway through Jublife added a lot of atomsphere to the story. The way you picked out and talked about various chicks Michael noticed was great. (Bahaha, the science league turned him off one of them, too bad the other was with a girl or he could’ve made a move on her!) Oh, I spotted something that sounded awkward to me.

“He stood on the sidewalk for a long while, and then he was on the move again, crossing the street and eyeing shop windows. Among the hair salons, candy shops, and drive-in theaters, his eyes found a bookstore. Its door was bright, less worn since not many had used it. The store was called Fran's Books. For some reason or another, he saw himself enter.”

He saw himself enter just reads weird to me. I know what you were getting at, that he didn’t quite know why he did it but he just did it. The problem is that (from my eyes anyway) it reads badly and disrupts the flow of the story. Unless he was looking at his reflection if it was a glass door. (Or maybe I’m just over thinking things.)

I thought Fran was going to go off her nut when she was all like“ Make sure that Stunky doesn’t ruin the books.” and Michael was all “ok lol, whatever” and then five seconds later “OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING, BAD STUNKY!” But apparently Fran loves Pokemon more than books and instaforgives (my new word ) and wants to give it (BOY/GIRL?) some food. Which is good for everyone I guess.

Oh don’t worry. Michael made a terrible decision and decided everyone else in the world is the problem and he will feed his stunky when he wants! He has a lot to learn which makes room for *gasp* CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT! *pops a party popper* Fran had a cool personality but it seems she won’t re-appear which is a shame. I’m a little attached to her after that one scene. The café was interesting, MAN THAT FOOD IS CHEAP! He finally feeds Stunky, wait till he finds out he has to feed Turtwig too :V

And he misses his chance with the hot blonde! Michael needs to get a better wingman, that Stunky is cute but doesn’t exactly talk him up.

Ooh the TV station! You aren’t missing anything in this city are you? Deoxys! Is. Full. Of. AWESOME. The space race shenanigans has been serving as an interesting sub plot in the story so far. I am eager to learn how it ends!

Michael you aren’t a monster you just need to treat other people better okay?

0.6

Nearly halfway, been going for about an hour now. (Yeah I read this all at once, watcha gunna do? With comments like these, half the review is filler anyway L)

Wow the opening was dramatic, and all that exposition served to introduce the very evil, revolting, conceited. . . Bullies. Gold star for your opening.

The battles were pretty well described but the strategy was mostly trollish grass>water no matter what you do. That was okay but Michael was very lucky that they both ONLY had water types.

Henry was introduced well and I got a fair grip with what you were trying to portray him as. The word zookeeper was spot on in this situation. And a Gym, Turtwig would rip up Roark any day. But wait, this is in the past. Maybe, le gasp, BYRON?

And in the park, Michael is turning BAMF it seems. And getting money from the gym will be cool, I’m excited to find out if I’m right when it comes to guessing the leader (Byron would make sense. Then who’s the Canalave Leader? Bertha? She’s the only elite four old enough.

0.7

Over halfway yeah! I’ve been reading and writing this up non-stop so your story must be really good and easy to read if I can keep it up like this,. (It could just be a side effect of my awesomeness we’ll see.)

Yeah I was right with the gym guessing! Woot, though it was a bit obvious. Stunky won’t be much help against steel will it (he/she?) “I rock this town!” What? So Byron changed specialist types? :V

Nice parody on the “Are You A Boy Or A Girl?” I guess that’s why Rowan asks it in-game in memory of this moment. Pointless random connection #678

Oh you know about biological weathering too and that’s why you always understood grass was good against rock like me! I’ve seen pictures of rocks split open by plants growing through them. Plants are hardcore.

OMG Pokemon Data Exploiter, POKEDEX! Also they did Starly‘s type wrong even though I would have preferred if it was like that. (Too many damn normal types!.) I think you did that on purpose though! It was a nice touch. I laughed at the composed dex entries. They were great.

I love all of the ways you are describing things that are common knowledge as “New and exciting findings” the fact that Rowan named the Pokedex made me scratch my head because Oak called it a Pokedex and he thought there were 150 pokemon tops even when it would have been obvious there were more than that. Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue that he forgot to say “In The Kanto Region?” Cool chapter, I’m reading on. *Wipes sweat off keyboard and brow.*

Oh and the Pokemon Centre made me “lol wut?” because I never imagined the magical nosies coming from the healing machines was just heat. :V Maybe they are just an older model?

0.8

Haha, this chapter definitely has a lot of kick butt hotel awesomeness thanks to Lesabre.

And it is revealed that Henry has lived a sheltered life (surprise, surprise) and goddammit those cats are fighting outside my window again! They give me such a fright when they hiss and growl at each other. Make love, not war cats.

Ontopic: The magazine was cool and I really feel like reading it. Apart from the obscure fashion section and the article on colour coordination. I’d like to know how taking care of badges improves you as a trainer too. (Unless they have the god-like powers in Poke Special Manga. Mind control anyone?)

The pseudo “Fight Club” they had going on in the courtyard (I think?) was cool. Strange how Henry wanted Michael to jump in but Michael wanted to be more careful about it. Kind of personality reversal in a way. :V If you’re wondering about that obscure smiley don’t worry, I use it to show an expression of. . . Confusion mixed with pleasure.

The compilation of the type chart was cool and I hope Michael does well in the gym!

0.9

So this one is long? *Has snack* Now I have returned to full power, back to the review.

Haha, the new décor. That’s hilarious, the weekly just keeps getting better doesn’t it? Also the way you described the Poke’ Balls as being expensive and metallic made me realise how absolutely awesome they would be in real life.

Silly Michael, Buneary isn’t a fighting type, it uses fighting moves. I’ve often ranted about how much cooler it would be if it was a fighting type so I’m not complaining. :D

Ooh, nitpicking:

It was a Machop, all right, wandering in the clearing. The pokémon was completely oblivious to the humans that lurked only a few yards away; it was walking amiably, alternating between swinging its arms and picking at the ground. The sun cast a fragile shine on its leathery skin, highlighting the obvious ripple of its muscles. It wasn’t as big as the one he had seen on the battlefield, but at this point, Michael didn’t care. Henry stood up into a crouch, and whispered into his ear.

“Stood up into a crouch” sounds awkward for me because I associate standing up with straightening your legs and spine when crouching does neither of those things.

The description of Machop’s was so nice it made me jealous because I have written a fic where a Machop is caught on the same route and it was not nearly as good and begun with the Machop jumping out of a bush to attack my protagonist. /rant

The Poke’ Ball being really hot made me think a lot. So that’s why they let it roll around on the ground instead of holding onto it tightly to prevent it escaping. Oooh. Or maybe, again, it is just an old version of the Poke’ Ball. (No apricorn balls? But this is the past isn’t it? Maybe they were only big in Jhoto.)

They got trolled with the Magikarp, that’s for sure. The Goldeen is beyond awesome because I cannot express my love toward Seaking enough. Just google image search “Seaking” to see what I mean. I can just imagine the grin on that guys face and the small tears of laughter in his eyes when he said “It knows a few water moves.” :D

Nice fight, but I would have liked to have seem more than Michael getting knocked over then him pulling him to the ground, pinning him down and punching him in the face a few times. Maybe because I’m such a martial arts nut with all of these crazy techniques to spout everywhere. Crab scissor flip anyone?

NOO! The rules prohibit Goldeen from being used! NOOOOOO!!!! I won’t get my Seaking after all. Oh wait it looks like Michael is just screwing the rules, I hope that turns out well for him.

1.0 (I can’t believe I made it this far in one sitting. I’m crazy.)

So if it’s a tie, the gym leader can choose to give the badge? Interesting…

Roots: The fic that proves verbal abuse helps Pokemon in battles. :D I have to say Machop completely destroyed both Onix and Geodude. They didn’t really stand a chance. Bronzor did Machop in with a nice Confuse Ray. It’s frustrating when:

MACHOP HURT ITSELF IN CONFUSION x infinity

That kind of stuff happens so I can understand why Michael would be getting upset especially with so much at stake.

Haha, confusion reverses orders. So if you tell your Chansey to use Softboiled when its confused does it heal the opponent? That was a cool touch, I was expecting Goldeen’s horn attack to fail but it did really well and lived up to my expectations. I can’t wait until it evolves. :3

I’m glad Henry brought Pachirisu because I see it as the only way he could take down Bronzor at the moment. (Unless Magikarp evolves, lol.) Good Henry won, now he can stop moping around. (Hopefully.) :V

The ending of this chapter was sweet. The characters have grown so much already. I’m starting to warm up to Henry!

1.1

Oh wait, before I begin I’d like to point out what you said:

Hey, thanks for the review! I don't care about the length, just leaving a thought or two is enough.

My face after typing all of this up: :V

Moving on. Can I start by being really jealous of your description of Eterna City? I described that place and it was nowhere near the thorough and high quality standard you produced. But this paragraph:

Not so long ago, she had been the sweet little girl on Chestnut Road, the daughter of the best pie-baker in town, the one who was always playing with friends on the hill. Her childhood had been typical of that of an Eterna kid—swimming, biking, running, and all other outdoor excursions with sleep and food in between. She barely noticed how she had made the jump from five to twenty-five, how those long braids she used to wear had unraveled, and how her parents had suddenly become small and wrinkly. The town had a lulling effect on her; it seemed to wash away all sense of time. One day, she was wiggling her first loose tooth in front of a mirror, and the next day she was strolling about with a bra and manicured nails, looking to buy some coffee before she started her morning shift.

I read this and I was like: FUUUUUUUUUUUU- because it was simply that well done. I’m not usually that much of an “OMG I LURRVE THIS” kind of perso but for some reason this particular paragraph caught my eye. But girl, even reading through it again it still sounds awesome.

Oh I’m so stupid thinking that Bertha would be Canalave Gym Leader just because byron is there. Gardenia, Maylene, Wake, Candice, Fantina, Aaron, Lucian, Flint, Cynthia and Volkner are all too young to even exist in this point of time. That means there will be plenty of exciting new characters to develop!:D

I’m starting to like Bertha a lot because of her nature rants about how bad the factory is for the environment. You’ve done her character justice all ready just by the way you introduced her. It seems she changes her favourite type from grass to ground. . . That is cool I guess she will have at least one ground type like how Byron had the random steel type.

Haha, they have to sleep in Bertha’s house. That’s just plain awesome. They never really address accommodation in game because you never have to sleep. Then again, there is that pointless hotel in Celadon City that is permanently “Fully Booked.” The stairs don’t go anywhere in that building, stupid rumours about a Mew being there…

On Topic: Great ending to this chapter, you’ve built up some suspense there but not enough for a full “did they save the world or are they all going to die” cliff hanger. 9No I’m not calling them “cliffys” NEVER!)

1.2 (Whew, my eyes are getting heavy. I started this at 8:00 PM and now its 10:30 PM. I’ve got a test tomorrow and I’m blaming you if I do badly :D)

Haha, parody of in-game canon when talking to fishermen causes them to the THE BIGGEST AND MOST AWESOME FISH EVAR.

Silly Michael, Starly would be perfectly good to fight Bertha with. Glad Henry decided to keep it. Also, I’m pretty sure that Horsea has just evolved but if I was the fisherman I’d be taking my road somewhere else.

Ooh the ending was sad. So things were really that bad with Michael and his mum to start with? Now I believe you when you said the thing about the bond broken that would never be mended. Was there even one from the start?

1.3 (Also your location made me laugh. Where do you come from?

YES
NO

Bahaha, Game Freak loves to parody itself.)

Onto the chapter:

I was appalled that they looked at Bertha’s Pokemon and I think this time the Roselia has just evolved, not been genetically mutated. >. >

1.3

Nice change of perspective to the Bertha and the tragic reporter. I laughed when she talked about how the Sinnoh News Network get terrible stories, they actually do. I’ve watched them on TV and it’s boring. What’s hip and happening is much more entertaining.

And they don’t know about evolution? O_o That’s a little strange seeing as someone should have noticed that their Pokemon changed form at least sometime. It’s just strange how nobody noticed is all.

So, In conclusion:

Your human characterisation is the driving force behind this story. Your characters are likeable and realistic with plenty of traits to distinguish them from one another. However your Pokemon don’t seem to have much if not any personality besides Stunky who hasn’t really been mentioned for a while. Your Pokemon are just as much characters as the humans so make sure to develop them too.

Your description and the entire region of past-Sinnoh continuously amazes and excites me. The description flows well and sets the scene beautifully. Sinnoh is a really cool place and all of the small touches such as the magazine and the space race really boosts the story even more.

Pacing-wise it’s great. You’re not rushing and you’re taking the time to tell the story. As far as originality goes this story is tops.

I hope you enjoyed my rant, er, review rather. I look forward to further chapters!

~Moonlightning

Haruka of Hoenn July 10th, 2011 4:10 PM

... o_O

I saw your post and all I had to say was wow. That must have taken you hours to type (and I hope you did all right on your test, by the way; now I feel bad :s). I shall now reply to your comments! (This might be a bit unorganized, since I'm just reading your post from top to bottom and replying to your review.) Here we go!

-----

Unfortunately, the 'bottom of a lake' line wasn't foreshadowing. Michael was simply implying that he'd very much like to throw the pokeball into a lake and not have to deal with it anymore. It's not the most pleasant of things, but hey, it's Michael. (He'll change, of course, but this is how it all began :P)

The misshapen buildings are the outskirts of town, if you will, the underdeveloped parts that no one really cares to spend money on. Every place has those parts, after all, right?

The Stunky is a boy, by the way. I call the pokemon in my story 'it' because I follow the logic that pokemon are the equivalent of animals. (At least in the naming respect.) When you see a random squirrel or bird, for example, you'd say "It flew" or "It climbed up a tree". If you see someone with a dog, you'd refer to the dog as an 'it', unless you know that particular dog, its name and its gender. Then you'd say "Lassie was walking alongside her owner. She stopped to sniff a tree." etc. etc.

As for the hot blonde, she'll be back. That's all I'm saying.

The PokeDex entries are a little mixed up because, of course, this is a time when knowledge of pokemon powers is limited. (You mentioned somewhere down the line about the evolution problem, so I'll explain that right now.) General distinctions between species are recognized, and several correlations have been noted between species like Starly and Staravia, for example. Trainers have definitely noticed that their pokemon change form, but evolution is more of a gradual thing, not the giant light-explosion that happens in the games. (In most cases, but not all. This is very important.) When curious trainers take their evolved Starlies to a specialist, the specialist tells them that their pokemon is not, in fact, a Starly anymore, but a Staravia. And then the usual "How is this possible?"' "Is a Starly the same thing as Staravia?" begins. As Michael progresses in his quest for money and knowledge, more of this will come to light.

Another thing about the PokeDex: One thing I find funny about the games is that each generation builds upon the previous one, and yet the older games remain blissfuly unaware that there are more pokemon out there. (Back in the professor Oak games, there were 150 pokemon, but now there are over 600.) With every new generation come new pokemon, but for the sake of this fic, I'm going off of 4th-generation knowledge. Just in case by the time I'm finished they've added another 200 to the list.

The pokeballs in this fic are like the 1.0 version of the pokeball. They're not apricorn, since by the 1960s people could come up with something much more advanced than that, but they're still far from the ones of today's world. I took their design from the pokeballs that appeared in the Celebi movie. (Pokemon4Ever, I think.)

Quote:

They got trolled with the Magikarp, that’s for sure. The Goldeen is beyond awesome because I cannot express my love toward Seaking enough. Just google image search “Seaking” to see what I mean. I can just imagine the grin on that guys face and the small tears of laughter in his eyes when he said “It knows a few water moves.” :D
Actually, he was telling the truth. Magikarp can't be completely useless as it is in the games, because I though that would be a little strange... I made Magikarp competent, but still somewhat floppy. Let's leave it at that.

Quote:

Haha, confusion reverses orders. So if you tell your Chansey to use Softboiled when its confused does it heal the opponent? That was a cool touch, I was expecting Goldeen’s horn attack to fail but it did really well and lived up to my expectations. I can’t wait until it evolves. :3
I've always wondered that too, and I've always been upset when my pokemon got confused and instead of using a healing move it hurt itself :/ (Then again, if a pokemon already has its mind set on healing, won't the Confuse Ray just make it heal its opponent? Logically, it make sense...)

I'll have to explore that... (Holy crap, I think I just got an idea for a one-shot.)

As for Bertha, I characterized her as being a young grass-type trainer, but with that steely personality that (I hoped) would foreshadow a change in preference in her later years.

I absolutely refuse to speak about Michael and Patricia, though. My lips are sealed on that matter, and no amount of cookie bribes will make me change my mind. *shifty eyes*

Quote:

However your Pokemon don’t seem to have much if not any personality besides Stunky who hasn’t really been mentioned for a while. Your Pokemon are just as much characters as the humans so make sure to develop them too.
I'm glad you mentioned the pokemon just now. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about Stunky or any of the other guys that now form Michael's (and Henry's) team. Right now, Michael is really goal-focused, and sees his pokemon as things-that-will-get-him-what-he-wants. Likewise, he only sends them out when he needs them, which is to battle. Learning to spend time with his pokemon and actually paying attention to them is part of his character arc, and there will definitely be more of his pokemon in the chapters to come.

I think that's about all I wanted to say... Thanks for mentioning those little nitpick phrases, by the way. Now that I look over them, I see how they can be changed, and I'll get around to doing that after I post this. (It's weird, because I can literally feel the difference in my writing and mentality between my earlier chapters and my later ones.)

I'm really glad you're following this, and I hope you'll like what I have in store for this story :)

Haruka of Hoenn August 1st, 2011 2:31 PM

Hey everyone. I got a nice bit of work done on this chapter, and (I think) it's my longest one so far. Hooray for new records!


1.4

Night crept over Eterna City in a silent whisper. Michael had Henry had gone outside a final time, spending the entire afternoon sitting idly underneath the tree. Then, all of a sudden, it was eight o’clock and Michael found himself running through the darkened streets of Eterna with Henry beside him, shouting.

"We're gonna be late, we're gonna be late!"

"Shut up, just run!"

They arrived at Bertha’s house in the nick of time. The porch was lit when they ran up the steps. Michel slammed his palm against the doorbell and listened, waiting to catch his breath.

The gym leader opened the door a few seconds later. There were little dark circles beneath her eyes, but other than that, she looked upbeat. "Well it's about time you got here!" she said. "For a minute there, I thought you wouldn't show."

She led them inside, to the familiar back door. The battle room was completely empty. The curtains were drawn, and four ceiling lamps lit the arena.

“All right, Michael, you’re up first,” said Bertha. “Now go on, pick a side. I prefer the left, but that's only because I'm a leftie."

"I’ll take the right then," Michael said. He handed his backpack to Henry, first withdrawing the three pokéballs that contained Turtwig, Machop and Caterpie. He had left his Goldeen behind, since it would only drag him down and (God forbid) make Bertha think he was incompetent.

With the luggage in hand, Henry stumbled over to the benches. Michael did not fail to catch the boy’s accusing glare as he sat down—apparently, Henry still had not forgotten their illegal peek at Bertha’s pokémon. But Michael was fairly sure that he would keep his mouth shut, for exposing him would expose Henry as well.

Bertha took her place on the battlefield. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and took a sip of water. Her appearance was casual—she could have been preparing for a morning jog—and for some reason it made her look all the more intimidating. Michael found himself wondering. Could he really repeat his feat at Byron’s gym a second time?

"You're familiar with the rules, right?" asked Bertha.

"Yeah... single battle, first person to defeat the other's pokémon wins, right?"

Bertha nodded. "Spot on. All right, let's get going! Send out your first pokémon." She reached into her knapsack and pulled out a pokéball. "Go!"

The Cherrim came out of the pokéball, still wrapped in a narrow tube. Michael put on a look of mild surprise, and behind him, Henry cleared his throat.

"Cherri, come out!"

At its trainer's command, the pokémon unraveled itself, showing a smiling yellow face rimmed with pink petals. On the whole, it looked like it couldn’t hurt a fly, but if a Gym leader was using it, then it could obviously pack a punch.

Michael opened his first pokéball. "Go, Turtwig." The Turtwig sprang from the capsule and landed in front of Michael.

Bertha smiled. "Cherri, use Take Down!" She had not paused like Byron had; she jumped in immediately, and it took Michael a second to find his voice.

"Turtwig, Razor Leaf!"

Just as the Cherrim sprang forward, the Turtwig tilted its head back and launched a spurt of leaves. But Cherri easily skipped out of their way, letting them hit the floor. Its sprint uninterrupted, the Cherrim collided with surprising force against Turtwig, throwing them both to the ground.

"Good!" Bertha said. "Now don't let it get away! Use Bullet Seed!"

Michael clenched his fist as he watched Turtwig squirm. "Get up! Dodge the attack, do Razor Leaf again!"

The Cherrim reared back, spitting out a round of tiny pink globs from its mouth. They pelted Turtwig like bullets, forcing it to back down under their fire.

Michael groaned. "Come on! Use Razor Leaf!”

The Turtwig struggled to lift its head. The spray had stopped, and Cherrim was preparing for another round, dislodging more tiny seeds from within its petals.

“Hurry up!”

Turtwig whipped its head. Its aim was true—the leaves hit the Cherrim full in the face, but instead of cutting its skin, they bounced off without leaving a mark.

Bertha grinned. “Take Down!”

“What? No! Turtwig—” Michael looked down just as Cherrim leaped forward, knocking down Turtwig and rolling with it across the floor. It was like watching a wrestling match in miniature, only Turtwig was more like a punching bag than a fighter. The pokémon pushed and tumbled, Turtwig nearly always ending up on the bottom. Though the Cherrim’s arms were tiny, they were doing a good job of holding on to Turtwig, whose four feet were flailing in an attempt to throw off its opponent.

Right then, it struck Michael how little he knew about pokémon battling. He could reason his way through the pokémon types, but when it came to an actual strategy, he was at a loss. The only two moves he knew, Razor Leaf and Tackle, had both failed him, and all he could do now was stand there with his arms hanging at his sides.

“Come on, get it off!” Michael shouted, hoping to not appear useless as the Cherrim began to whip Turtwig’s face with its arms. “Don’t be a wimp!” But the Turtwig was too busy sinking under the blows to hear him.

“Cherri, finish it off! Use Leech Seed!”

“No!” Michael said. His hands had reached up unconsciously to pull his hair. “Don’t let it finish you off, for Pete’s sake! Do something!”

Against his better judgment, he looked at Cherrim to watch what it was doing. The pokémon was throwing more pink seeds at Turtwig, who was still lying on the floor. But this time was different; instead of pelting the skin, they stuck to Turtwig’s body like spitballs, and began to glow a bright white.

What the…? Michael watched in wonder as the Turtwig’s thrashes lessened. As its muscles loosened, he noticed that the Cherrim’s body was healing, all the minor scratches from the tackle patching up before his eyes. The Turtwig, in contrast, was being drained.

“Leech Seed is a neat little move,” Bertha said. “I can tell you haven’t seen it before. It drains the opponent’s energy and uses it to heal the user.” She crossed her arms and waited. When Turtwig’s head lolled over and its body rolled on its side, she nodded. "Turtwig is unable to battle. Send our your next Pokémon.”

Michael looked down in bewilderment. Abandoning all cares, he knelt beside his Turtwig and began to shake it.

"Get up! You're not gonna get anywhere if you lie around!" He tried to hoist it up, but its legs kept folding beneath its body. Bertha let him for a few moments, but then she shook her head.

“Kid, trust me. I know when a pokémon’s done.”

Michael called the Turtwig back into its pokéball, biting back his anger. If Bertha could take down his entire team that easily, he would definitely lose. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, then withdrew Caterpie's pokéball.

The slimy pokémon screeched as it fell to the floor. Bertha looked down at it for a moment, and Michael thought he could read the words that were running through her mind. Was this, truly, the best he could do?

"Bug Bite it," Michael said. His enthusiasm was deflating more and more by the second.

"Cherri, use Petal Dance!"

When he saw the Cherrim getting ready for the next attack, Michael exhaled sharply. "Come on! Do it quickly!" The Caterpie remained where it was for a few moments, clicking its tiny pincers. The Cherrim, meanwhile, was beginning to twirl around in circles, pink petals gently blowing around its body like confetti.

Caterpie looked up at its opponent for a moment, then began to move, inching forward with a speed barely above that of a rolling ball.

“Hurry up!” Michael urged. He wanted to pick it up and toss it for the remaining few feet, but that would have been against the rules. He resorted to tapping the ground behind it with his foot, each time giving the Caterpie a little jolt so that it crawled slightly faster. “Pick up the pace, come on, that’s it.” It felt like trying to teach a little kid how to ride a bike.

Just then, the Cherrim broke out into a spin. The petals tore through the air at lightning speed, in a storm of pink and red. Michael dove out of their way, expecting any moment to see Caterpie splattered against the wall, but their target was so small that most of the leaves missed Caterpie completely. Instead they bounced off the floor, some blowing straight into Michael’s face.

“Aah!”

He staggered back, sputtering as the paper-thin petals fell all around him. In the sidelines, Henry began to laugh.

“How cute,” Bertha chuckled. “You look like you’ve been to a romantic dinner.”

Michael brushed off the petals, fuming. “Caterpie, Bug Bite, now!”

While Bertha had been busy, Caterpie had made surprising progress. It had advanced across the battlefield, and at Michael’s command, sank its teeth into the Cherrim’s skin. The Cherrim began to squeal, its knobby arms flailing, unable to throw off the parasite. By the time it managed to pry away the teeth, the wound was oozing some sort of green liquid, and the Cherrim was swaying.

“Cherri, use—”

“Bug Bite again! Again!” Michael said, jumping on the balls of his feet. Whatever the reason, the Bug Bite was working. The Caterpie threw itself onto the dazed Cherrim again, chewing every inch it could find with those teeth that seemed too sharp for its delicate body. There were a few moments of fruitless struggle, and then the Cherrim went limp, its eyes drifting closed.

Bertha’s hand, which had been gripping her belt moments before, now unclipped Cherri’s pokéball to send it back.

“Not bad, kid,” she said as the Cherrim dissolved away. “I had a trainer use one of those Caterpies on me before. I’ve never bothered with them, but they seem to give Cherri a hard time...” She switched the current pokéball with a new one.

“But we’re far from done! Go, Turtle!” A ray of white light shot out from the pokéball, taking the form of Bertha’s Turtwig. Michael was glad Bertha couldn’t see the expression of curious recognition it was giving him when it landed in front of her.

“Turtle, use Stealth Rock!” Bertha said.

The Turtwig jumped, and when it landed, the floor shook. Tiny cracks appeared around Caterpie, out of which a circle of sharp, rocky spikes sprouted like stems. The ring of stone crushed tight around Caterpie’s body, leaving its green abdomen sticking out like a tiny stem. It wriggled in an effort to free itself.

“Come on, get out of it!” Michael said. Caterpie’s tiny legs were working, pushing its narrow body out of the ring’s grip.

“Turtle, now!”

Her Turtwig rushed forward with surprising agility. As it ran, the ground cracked further, and the ring of rocks around Caterpie loosened and sank back into the floor. But before Caterpie could do so much as move, Turtwig jumped.

And landed.

There was a sickening crunch as it landed in a bellyflop, crushing the tiny body beneath it. When the Turtwig rolled off and bounded back to its trainer, Michael saw a long, flattened body. He didn’t even bother.

"That does it every time,” Bertha smiled. “Caterpie is unable to battle." Michael avoided her gaze as he sent back the Caterpie.

His final hope was Machop. It came out of the pokéball all curled up, actually rolling a few feet before it realized that it was time to get moving.

Michael clapped once, and the Machop stood, stretching its arms in a way that was amusingly similar to what he did just before taking a nap in class.

“Machop, use Focus Punch,” Michael commanded.

Bertha took a sip from her water bottle and stepped back a few feet. She was getting ready for something; Michael could see the twinkle in her eyes.

“All right. Time to make things a little more interesting,” Bertha said. “Turtle, use Leaf Storm!”

The Turtwig tilted back its head once more, but it was different from the Razor Leaf attack Michael knew so well. It turned its head rapidly, and a small gust of leaves began to spin above its head, but instead of hurling towards Machop, they swelled into a kind of cloud, like a balloon filling up with air above the Turtwig’s head.

At that moment, Machop seemed to freeze. Its red eyes followed the growing cloud.

“What is it?” Michael said. “Come on, do the attack!”

The Machop did not move, and in every wasted second, the cloud seemed to double in size. Whatever was going on behind Machop’s shaking eyes, it sure wasn’t a battle plan.

With a cry, the Turtwig let loose. A jet of leaves shot away from the cloud and Machop dove to the side, evading the attack but not stopping at that. It continued to scamper around the battlefield, arms flailing, eyes panicking. Bertha chuckled, and Michael felt himself flush with anger.

“Come back!” he said to the Machop. “Now!”

The Machop ignored him. Its running game was becoming an inconvenience for Bertha’s Turtwig, who was launching wave after wave at its opponent, who quickly hurried out of the way. Some of the leaves hit the walls, others bounced off the lights and the photographs and knocked aside papers.

After a while, the Turtwig decided that enough was enough. With another wave of its head, it send the remaining cloud of leaves rolling after Machop, like a paper ball attached to a string. The cloud followed Machop wherever it went, and when it realized this, the poor pokémon ran all the faster.

Bertha chuckled. “I have to say, you’ve got a pretty energetic one there.”

Machop bounded around and between them, bumping against walls and the benches. Finally, its legs gave way. The Machop tripped, skidding on its knees before coming to a stop in the middle of the battlefield. It backed against the ground, its chest pulsing with rapid breath. The cloud of leaves swallowed it whole. Michael heard an almost-human scream as Machop scrambled to its feet and began to run around again, arms flailing in an attempt to shake off the cloud. But the leaves surrounded its body even as it ran, pelting relentlessly.

Machop continued its run for an impressive amount of time, screaming and kicking at the air. Michael stood there, wanting to do something but not knowing what, until the cloud cleared and Machop’s body was exposed, stiff on its belly.

“I think that’s it for you, buddy,” said Bertha. “Unless you want to wait a minute?” She looked at Michael.

The Machop didn’t look in the mood to get up. As Michael lifted the pokéball, he felt his throat close up.

I lost. To a freaking Turtwig.

For a minute, he couldn’t move. He was stuck staring at the pokéball, speechless. In the corner of his eye, he saw Bertha lean forward.

"Uh... is that it? Do you have any more pokémon?" Michael looked first at her, then at Henry, who gave him a sympathetic shrug. But his eyes had a very I-told-you-so look about them.

And suddenly, the idea came to him with all the glory of a shining bulb. Still looking at Henry, Michael grinned. "No, I have one more. My Starly."

Henry did a double-take.

"Okay. Send it out then," Bertha said. Michael walked over to the bench.

"Forgot all about it, sorry!" he said. Henry slowly reached into his tote bag and handed him the pokéball. His expression was clouded, but it was easy for Michael to ignore as he walked back onto the battlefield.

"Go, Starly!"

The tiny bird's form shot out from the pokéball, assembling in midair with a series of screeches. Bertha nodded.

"All right. Turtle, pin it down with Leech Seed!”

"Starly, peck it!" he cried.

Upon Michael's command, the Starly folded its wings and dove. The Turtwig didn't have time to complete the attack—it was knocked down on its back by a swift gust of wind. Starly landed right on top, and began pecking at the Turtwig as if it were a piece of fruit, its large black wings thumping.

When Starly flew off, Michael saw the remains—scarred and shaking. The Turtwig was on its back, its feet plowing pathetically at the air as it tried to flip itself over.

Bertha's jaw fell open. "Wow! Talk about a comeback! We’ll try another angle then. Turtle, use Razor Leaf!”

The Turtwig heaved itself onto its feet. Michael didn’t wait. “Peck! Peck again!” he shouted, and the Starly landed. It pecked some more, and the Turtwig offered little resistance this time. “Don’t stop, don’t stop!” Michael was clenching his fists so tight that it hurt.

Now, an edge of frustration had crept into Bertha’s face. “Hang in there! Use Razor Leaf!”

"Dodge them!" Michael cried, throwing his arms out in front of him. As the leaves were launched, Starly looped out of their way. It was not entirely successful, however. A single leaf struck its side, sending it spiraling backwards. Starly flapped, regaining its balance, then dove forward again, Michael hanging on to its every move.



//////



“Hurry, this way!”

“I really don’t get why we’re taking this road. I thought it was—”

“Sssh! Just follow me.”

“But what if someone sees us?”

“No one will see. Just run. And be quiet!”

“You know, we could be breaking the law right now. Is all this really worth the—”

“Sssh!”

“Yuck! I think I just stepped in something...”

“Oh, grow up. It’s just gum.”

“Shut up! My God, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“I can’t see! It’s not my fault that these damn people were too lazy to put up streetlights, and now we’re bumping into things like a bunch of idiots! We could be walking right into a trap right now!”

“I really think we should shut it now. I see the building.”

“Right over there?”

“That light. See? it’s a window.”

“I see it! Everyone quiet! Ned, do you have the camera?”

“Right here.”

“Great. Tom, Bobby, are the speakers ready?”

“Got them.”

“Good. We’ll come in slowly. No one move without my command, got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Two hands pulled apart a scrim of bushes, revealing the Galactic factory. The property was illuminated by blotches of white light, catching on the framework of pipes and chutes that laced the ground like vines. The buildings were plain and square, connected by metal roofs within the concrete jungle. A sign stood nearby, its letters screaming:


PRIVATE PROPERTY!
NO TRESPASSING

VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.


To Nancy, it might as well have said go.

She gave the signal, and Ned produced a large pair of metal clippers and snapped the lock on the gate. It fell into the bushes. Ned discarded the clippers and the crew shuffled into the lot, Nancy in the lead. She had expected some sort of alarm to go off when they had broken the gate, but none had. There were no security cameras she could spot, but she was still careful to move slowly, slinking around the perimeter with her team following behind in the shadows.

The factory opened itself to them like a multilayered shell. Though her heart was lodged in her throat and her hands trembled with her every move, Nancy couldn’t help but admire its beauty. The factory wasn’t just one building, as it had seemed from the outside—it was a compound of several structures, all of which were connected by a network of wires and lights.

Ned snapped several photos as they went along. The buildings were varied in shape and size, and some of them had enormous additions which poked out of the sides like the exposed flesh of an alien robot.

Some of the buildings had smokestacks, which struck out dramatically against the night sky. They were laced with some sort of material that reflected the dusty glare of the moon, and held Nancy’s gaze when she passed them. As they advanced, the noise from the machinery became like a deep heartbeat off in the distance. It was almost like a little piece of home.

“Get back!”

It took her a while to realize that the voice was talking to her. A hand pulled her back, and she hit the fence alongside the rest of her team. Nancy was about to turn at them when Tom pressed a finger to his lips.

“Worker,” he whispered.

Nancy looked out. A factory worker—she couldn’t see if it was a man or woman—had appeared from behind a corner to pace about, looking up at the sky. Their back was turned. Nancy placed both hands behind her and held her breath. If the person were to look over in their direction, their presence would immediately be given away. And it was just too darn early for that.

She waited, but the worker did not look back. Their finger was tracing something in the sky, and they often looked down at a sheet of paper in their hands. They scribbled something, then disappeared again behind the building.

“Man, these people are weird...” Nancy whispered.

The team went on, their hands moving across the fence like rock climbers’. It was a while, but eventually, the building they were looking for came out from its hiding place. It stood alone, surrounded by a low metal fence that announced its division from the rest of the factory. This building was smaller, with a slanted roof and windows that glowed with room-light. It would have been completely missed by an observer looking in from the outside. It looked like a house in miniature.

Nancy rounded the building’s corner, searching for a good spot. She found one—a single square window that opened up at the side, the sill lined with flowerpots. The curtains behind it were drawn, though there was a slip of yellow light wide enough to obtain a medium-resolution image of the inside.

She motioned for the team to stop. They were in a pocket of shade beside the house, literally on the threshold of survival. Her palms tingled. The team crowded around her.

“Remember what we rehearsed,” Nancy said. “I come in with Ned first, then when the coast is clear, Tom and Bobby, you guys follow.” The three nodded their approval.

The next few feet were quite possibly the longest of Nancy’s life. She tiptoed first, then broke into an all-out sprint across the open walkway, and collapsed at her knees beside the fence. Ned plopped down beside her, rushing to turn the camera on. They were separated from the window by about five feet, but it was enough for her to tell what was going on.

There was a tiny crack between the curtains that allowed a slip of orange light to show. Ned aimed the lens, and Nancy looked over his shoulder at the image.

She was peering into what appeared to be a study room. It was flooded with books and papers, some tacked to the walls and others hanging out of bookshelves. In the corner was the edge of a large bed. A man sat at the desk, his back to the window, buried in paperwork. Nancy saw the tweed coat and hat hanging by the door, and with a jolt, recognized the man from the marketplace.

“Jackpot...” Ned zoomed in.

The man was reading. Not that interesting, but what held Nancy’s attention was the bulletin board hanging on the wall in front of him. It contained all sorts of diagrams and charts, and a detailed cross-section of what looked to be a very complicated piece of machinery.

“Ned, are you getting this?” Nancy said. “Look at the papers he has up there.”

Ned adjusted the focus so that the bulletin board took up the whole screen. The image was blurred, and she could only read the largest, most detailed papers. At that moment, Tom and Bobby sat down behind them.

“Whoa! What are those?”

“They look like cross-sections of something,” said Tom. “Can you get a closer shot, Ned?”

“Nope. This is the best I can do.” He snapped a few pictures.

“Look at that one.” Nancy pressed her thumb to the biggest chart. It was also the highest up, and cut off from the screen at the edge.

“It looks like… a rocket!” said Tom.

Bobby shook his head. “No way.”

“Yes way. Look, there’s the engine, and the thrusters, and the wings... my God.” Tom pointed to several points around the picture, and indeed, Nancy began to see the object’s three-dimensional outline. Her breath froze.

“Is that what they’re building, then?” she said.

“Impossible,” said Ned. “This place isn’t big enough to hold an entire rocket ship.”

“Well, obviously they’re making it in parts,” said Bobby. “Then all they’d have to do would be to send it somewhere else to be assembled.”

“Like Veilstone?” Nancy turned. “That would explain why Team Galactic’s headquarters is located there. The whole freaking city is surrounded by mountains. No one would be able to see a thing.”

“This might be a bit of a stretch,” said Tom, “but I think Galactic’s planning a space mission that they want to keep secret for some reason. Remember when the Rockets discovered that pokémon Deoxys?”

“Yes.” Nancy gritted her teeth. “Goddamn SNN just had to get the story. Of course Galactic would talk to them and not me...”

“But everyone already knows about Deoxys,” said Bobby. “What else would the Galactics want to keep from us?”

“Oh, loads. And it doesn’t matter, because they can keep whatever they want a secret. For all we know, Deoxys is some super hybrid alien that wants to launch an attack on the planet.”

The team chuckled. Nancy sucked in her breath.

“Well, we probably won’t get much praise for speculating, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll take some pictures, and tomorrow we’ll send them into Jubilife. Now all we have to do…”

She turned back to face the window, but to her surprise, the room was empty. The chair was pushed off to the side, and the man was gone.

“What the... where did he go?”

“That’s weird. I just saw him.” Ned adjusted the camera. “Maybe he went into a different room.”

Bobby shook his head. “Something’s not right about this place. I feel it… I think we should go.”

But before any of them could move, a new voice issued from the silence.

“Well, well, well.”

The team went completely still.

The man from the marketplace was standing behind them, flanked on either side by several security guards, their guns glinting in the orange light.

“It’s time we sorted this out. Take ’em.”



//////



"Peck it, peck it!"

Michael’s eyes were narrowed in determination. Starly was in the process of attacking Turtle with its beak, and the Turtwig was flinching back under the force of the blows. The Razor leaves had done their job, but in the midst of the attack, Starly had trapped Turtwig in another close-combat face-off. The few minutes after he had sent out the Starly had turned the tables. For the first time, Bertha was beginning to back down, her taunting smile replaced by an unreadable stare.

Bertha was watching the struggle, clenching her fist around her remaining pokéball. “Turtle! Get him off!”

But the Starly was relentless. It continued to flap and peck, while the Turtwig’s head and legs inched further and further into its shell. When Starly finally moved away, Turtle had closed its eyes for good. Michael smiled.

"Yeah! Now that's what I'm talking about!"

From the side, Henry began to clap. “Woooooo!”

"Don't get too confident, we're not over yet!" Bertha said. She switched Turtle's pokéball with another one from her knapsack.

"Go, Rose!"

From a beam of white light, the Roselia-thing appeared before him. Bertha looked down at it longer than she had at her other pokémon, and Michael used the brief pause to ask his question.

"Bertha... is that a Roselia?"

"Yeah." Bertha held up her hand. "I know, I know, it looks different. I have no idea what happened; one day she was normal, and the next day I just took her out of her pokéball and found her like this. It shouldn't affect our battle, though. If anything..." she paused to wink, "she's gotten a lot stronger since then. So you better watch out! Rose, use Shadow Ball!"

Michael clenched his fists. "Starly, dodge it!" For a split second, he looked over to see a ball of black materialize in the Roselia’s hands. He turned back to the Starly, who was flying around in circles. "Come on, you're gonna get hit! Get out of the way!"

The Shadow Ball was released into the air. Michael closed his eyes, waiting for the pained screech and the thump that would accompany it. But nothing came. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Starly was still flapping away in the air, the Shadow Ball gone.

Bertha too seemed surprised. "Wow! I've never seen anything like that before!"

"What? What happened?"

"Your bird. It just absorbed the attack. Like there was some sort of force field around it." Bertha looked over to him, her eyes searching. "Has that ever happened before?"

Michael was still. "Uh... I don't know. I never really paid any attention to it. I guess."

Bertha held his gaze for a moment, then chuckled. "Well, you must have really been training! Rose, let's try something else. Use Poison Jab!"

"Starly, peck again!"

As Rose jumped forward, Starly met it with its beak outstretched. When the pokémon collided, Rose was sent back down, flailing. The momentum had taken its toll on Starly as well; its flight became irregular and labored.

"Use Poison Jab again, Rose!" Bertha cried. The Roselia struggled to its feet, the flowers on its hands curling into talons.

The Starly dipped lower, letting out what could only be its final screech of despair before it fell to the ground.

"No!" Michael shouted. "Starly, get out of the way! Move! Fly higher!" His words seemed to have no effect, which only angered him further. "Starly, move! Be a brave bird, for God's sake!"

At this, Starly's beady eyes widened. Its wings began to flap, and it steadily regained its height. As the Roselia broke out into a run, the Starly let out a loud, vibrating screech, folded its wings, and lurched forward, gathering speed. The tiny bird was literally hurling everything it had at its opponent.

Michael didn’t even have time to blink. The gray blur collided with the Roselia, throwing both bodies back against the wall. When they collided, the entire building seemed to shake.

“Whoa!” Henry rose from his seat. Michael went to inspect, and Bertha followed him. Rose's body peeled away from the wall, tattered and motionless. Several feet away, Starly was on the ground, groping for footing. Shaking, but nevertheless moving.

Michael's jaw dropped open.

"Well, there's the mother of all comebacks!” Bertha said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a match that close since I did my battling exam to become a Leader!” She looked at Michael. “What? Don’t just stand there. I’m sure your Starly doesn’t want to claw dirt forever.”

Michael took out the pokéball with shaking hands, and called the Starly back inside. Bertha did the same.

“I have to say, I'm impressed. I don’t like to believe that someone’s tough before I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You've earned yourself the Forest Badge."

"Yeeeeaahhh!" Henry shouted, jumping to his feet.

Bertha allowed the applause for a moment before continuing. “Now onto your review. Your battle style is good, but somewhat rusty. Back when Turtle used Leaf Storm on your Machop, you stood there for about a whole minute. During that minute, you could’ve done something to save yourself. A trainer never wastes time. Get what I’m saying?”

Michael nodded.

“Great then.” Bertha went back to her desk, rummaged a bit, then came out with a shiny coin. Its edges were jagged, and it was painted a bright green.

"Thanks," Michael said.

"Hold your horses, kid." Bertha reached into her knapsack and took out several bills. Their green was the brightest of all. Michael was still trembling as he took them into his hands.

"Pay attention now." Bertha snapped her fingers, and Michael looked up. "Next Gym's in Hearthome City. And by that face of yours, I can tell that you're a person who likes the green." She nodded towards the money folded up in his hands. "Don't lose your head there. Please oh please. Folks there are big on gambling, and I'll tell you right now that if you don't keep that money safe, you'll lose it all. Got it?"

Michael nodded.

"Good. Have a safe trip."

"Thanks."

Michael turned for the door. Henry ran up to him, the cage clattering against his side.

"That was so awesome!" he said. "But why didn't you tell me you wanted to use Starly?"

"It was a last minute decision, okay? And besides, without it, I would have lost." Michael took a deep breath. “And I almost did. That was… intense. I never knew that trainers had it so rough.”

Henry looked at him. “How do you feel about challenging the League now?” It wasn’t a taunt, which surprised Michael. “Do you think you can handle it?”

“Of course. I just said it was intense. All we need is a more rounded team for next time. In fact, we should work on that when we get to Hearthome.”

Henry beamed. "Totally. But wasn’t Starly the greatest?”

“Yeah. It totally swept Bertha's team.”

“Why, though?"

"I guess flying is effective against grass," Michael said. He chuckled in spite of himself, alleviating the quakes that still wracked his body. "I'll have to add it to the chart."

They left the battle area and walked up to their rooms. Before they parted ways, Henry stopped.

“Oh, and one thing,” he said. “Can I use the Starly tomorrow? You know, because...”

Michael handed him the pokéball. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t use the exact same moves I used or she’ll think that we helped each other.”

“Got it.”

Just then, they heard the door to the battle room close. Bertha was coming.

“Shoot!” Michael slipped into his room. “See you tomorrow,” he said to Henry before closing the door.



//////



“No, please! You don’t understand, we weren’t trying to—”

“Save it!” The guard tightened his grip on Nancy’s arm. She was being led down a long, narrow tunnel that was lit with buzzing orange lamps that left stains on her vision when they flicked by. Her heart was hammering in her throat, and her knees knocked together every so often, causing her to trip over her heels.

They reached a door at the end, which two more guards pushed open to reveal a tiny, windowless room. Nancy and her team were thrown down at a metal table. Their equipment had been confiscated, Nancy’s tape recorder smashed against the ground. Its splinters were probably being burned in the incinerator now, belching from the smokestacks she had been staring at scarcely ten minutes ago.

The chair she had been forced into was cold, unfriendly. A lone ceiling lamp heated her face, only dimly outlining the guards the stood at every corner of the room. They leered in the half-light. Nancy rose from her chair, wringing her hands.

“Please! We weren’t doing anything bad, all we wanted was—”

“Shut up!”

A guard forced her back into her seat. Then came the bang of a slamming door, and the man from the marketplace entered the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“People have always fascinated me, you know. Your type in particular. You paparazzi just go on and on about your little business, oblivious to the personal cares of those around you. You poke your noses into things you don’t belong in. Isn’t a ‘keep out’ sign enough these days? Or should I really throw you in jail? I could, you know.” He put his hands down on the table. “There’s a reason we keep the public out of our operations. Our projects do not concern you. Do you understand me?”

Nancy nodded, but before she could insert her defense, the man went on.

“Trespassing. Defacing company property. Illegally recording classified material...” He tallied off their offenses with his fingers as he paced around the table. “Not to mention, a blatant ignorance of company policy!”

“What policy?” said Bobby. “Where does it say that we’re not allowed to interview you? We have freedom of the press!”

The man lunged at the table again, gripping the edge with his fists. “Freedom of the press my ass. Team Galactic is a closed-door company. That means we don’t take pictures, we don’t take interviews. Not from national corporations, not from a bunch of snot-nosed street rats with homemade cameras. End of story.”

The man leaned away, stepping out of the light again. “Now, I will explain this very clearly,” he said. “I have a direct telephone line to Veilstone City. I can call whoever I want, whenever I want, twenty-five hours a day. I can have you four locked up for life, and on top of that, I can shut down your little production company forever. Who do you work for?”

“No one,” Nancy mumbled. “Sinnoh Now is its own company.”

The man smiled. “Ah. Trying to make it on your own, eh? Hoping you’ll make the big time and have your own little TV show one day by snatching a quick one behind my back? But things didn’t go exactly how you planned today, did they?” He leaned in again, this time so close that Nancy could smell the cigarette smoke that reeked from his every word. “Because I can take that dream away from you faster than you can say ‘go’. And you know I will. You messed with the wrong people.”

He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze poking a hole through Nancy’s composure. She could actually feel the tears coming as he turned for the door.

It slammed, and two guards took their places beside it.

Nancy buried her face in her hands and began to cry for real. This time, none of her companions tried to stop her.

“Well, now what?” said Tom.

“We’re over, that’s what. Might as well pack our stuff and go home.” Bobby leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“If we don’t end up in jail, that is.”

“Man, now that I think about it, that guy was right,” Bobby said. “All this for a stupid story?”

“Will — you — STOP!” Nancy threw up her head at them, teeth clenched. Face red and mascara running, she once again resembled a monster. “At least I’m actually trying to do something! All you guys do is sit around and wait for me to tell you where to go! You never do anything by yourselves! Never! You just hang back and let me do all the work! You barely carry your own weight, and now you’re just quitting! Quitting on my work! All you want now is to save your sorry asses from jail. You don’t even care that everything we — oh, sorry, I — have worked for is being flushed down the drain!”

Tom looked at her in disbelief. “What? We’ve been with you every step of the way!”

“Yeah!” said Bobby. “Who was it that raised all the money to buy a van, huh? Who was it that put together that list of phone numbers for the interviews?”

Ned nodded his agreement. “Yeah, Nancy, you’re being completely unfair. You haven’t been a complete miracle either, you know.”

“Honestly, if we burst into tears every time something went wrong, then this project would have fallen apart years ago,” said Bobby. “I, at least, try to keep it together when life throws a little mud on my shoe.”

Nancy’s eyes flashed. “I, at least, have the organization to get things done around here! For some reason, I have the time to arrange meetings, map out all our routes, and pick up empty Coca Cola cans from the van’s floor that SOME PEOPLE are too lazy to throw away! And I don’t complain!”

“What’s the big deal if I forget once or twice? At least I learn from my mistakes and don’t forget to fill up the tank before we go, like this one.” He pointed at Tom.

“So you want to start this again?” Tom turned his chair to face Bobby. “That was one time! One freaking time!”

“You know what, Bobby?” said Nancy. “I think the reason you always hang on to other people’s mistakes is because you make so many of them that it’s nice to see someone else screw up for a change!”

Bobby threw up his hands. “Why are you all ganging up on me now? If you want to talk about mistakes, I’ll give you one right now — this! It was a mistake to come here from the beginning, but did anyone listen to me? No! Because no one ever listens!”

“Because you never have anything good to say!” Nancy said. “All you do is whine! ‘Oh, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do that, this is such a chore, blah blah blah!’”

“Nancy’s right,” Tom said. “If you at least pulled your own weight, then maybe we’d get things done a lot faster!”

Nancy turned her scowl on him. “Oh, don’t act so innocent, Mr. Stoic! Ever since we got put on probation by SNN, you’ve been nothing but a pain! Right when it’s our time to work, you decide to take a vacation—”

“How is that bad?” Tom retorted. “Sorry for not having a maniacal drive like yours, but I happen to be a human being who needs to take their mind off of show business every once in a while. What’s the crime in that? I work just as hard as you do, Nancy—”

Nancy gripped the edge of her chair. “IF I HADN’T PUSHED YOUR LAZY BEHINDS OUT OF JUBILIFE, YOU’D ALL BE DRIVING GARBAGE TRUCKS! DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO ME ABOUT HARD FUCKING WORK!”

“Well at least I—”

“Guys, just shut up!”

The bickering trio paused for breath. In their heated face-off, they had forgotten all about Ned, who had been listening quietly the whole time. His sudden outburst made them turn.

“What, Ned?” Nancy snapped. “Would you like to add to the discussion?”

“No, because the discussion is pointless!” Ned slapped the table. “Look at yourselves! You’re acting like a bunch of kids! Do you think that arguing will change anything about our current situation? We’re here, we’re in hot water, and nothing anyone has said in the past two minutes has helped us find a way out!”

Nancy and Tom exchanged glares, and settled back. Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Oh sure, sure, now everyone listen to Ned’s infinite wisdom—”

“Shut up, Bobby!” said Tom.

“See what I mean?” Ned said. “You guys are such... I don’t even know what to call it. Point is, you are a team. Everyone has their place, everyone has their job. Everyone’s important! You guys just hang on to every little thing that goes wrong. All people have their own problems, okay? But the point of making a group effort is to get past them and work towards a common goal!”

The trio exchanged glances again. Now that most of her anger had been let out, Nancy was able to take a deep breath.

“Fine. I guess you’re right. We should be worrying about how to get out of here, first of all...”

“I don’t think that’ll work out.” Tom looked at the tough-looking guards who stood by the door.

Nancy shook her head. “I can't believe this. All our footage… all our equipment, gone. This’ll cost hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars to replace! We might as well be starting from square one.”

“Don’t worry about the equipment,” said Tom, dropping his voice. “It’s not the worst thing that could’ve happened. They don’t know about our van.”

“And they haven’t sued us yet,” Ned added.

“But they can’t really put us in jail, though, right?” said Bobby. “I mean... what we did wasn’t that bad. Well, it was bad, but not bad bad. I understand a fine or something, but prison?”

“Didn’t you hear the guy?” said Nancy. “He said he has a direct line to Veilstone. He can call whoever he wants to call. Hell, he’s probably dialing the number right now.”

“He could’ve just been lying to scare us. Those big-business guys do it all the time.”

“I don’t know... Something tells me he’s not the lying type,” said Tom, twiddling his thumbs.

The team fell into silence.

Nancy ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, there’s no point in speculating. Let’s just not make things worse and wait it out. Hopefully, this whole thing will blow over and we can leave for someplace else tomorrow.”


How right she was.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ August 3rd, 2011 4:04 AM

Well, I go to your thread and see you've posted 13 without letting me know, so this will be a 2-in-1 review. My apologies if it's a bit short, but as I explained in my PM, I'm not really into the whole fan fiction thing right now because of certain... circumstances...

Chapter 13:

First, let it be known that Michael still cooks better than Lisa... or me IRL, for that matter xD

Quite ironic that Bertha happens to use the same Pokemon team that her eventual successor in Eterna will use. And I'm trying to think of what would get Bertha to change types over the years... one thing that comes to mind is Torterra is Grass-Ground... another is she gets in it really deep with Galactic and changes her type to try to "re-image" herself.

As for the Roserade-Referred-To-As-Mutated-Roselia, it does make sense that it hasn't been discovered yet. There have been a whole bunch of new evolutions of existing Pokemon introduced throughout the years. (And I don't blame you for not using the newest set of Pokemon in the game - most of the new ones suck anyway. And for my story, I was actually gonna stick with just Generations 1-3 until we made the decision for Sadie to appear in mine :P)

Compared to how she's depicted in the games, it was quite nice to see a more impatient and impulsive side of Bertha show during her meeting with your typical ineffective and incompetent government officials. Of course there's always the possibility she's mellowed out over the years, but Bertha going ballistic = awesome.

Right now I'm not sure what to make of the news crew... it sounds like at least Nancy's heart is in the right place, but they still resort to the old paparazzi-style tactics to try to get what they wanted... and ended up failing miserably. But who knows? These folks might be determined enough to be the guys who finally break through the wall of secrecy that Galactic's built around their entire operation. And funny you should mention a van without air conditioning... I had relatives visit the past weekend and their van is also without air conditioning (albeit theirs is busted). For the record, though, back in this time period, I believe car air conditioners were still a "luxury" option - much like GPS navigators and backup cameras are today.

And good 'ol Dr. E... I had a teacher in middle school named Emerson who was a bit like him even though my teacher was this older little lady. I do remember she once called one of the students an "airhead" xD Granted, said student was an airhead, but it was still funny :P

Chapter 14:

One thing about the battle... Turtwig should have been unaffected by Leech Seed, since the move doesn't work on fellow grass Pokemon. Otherwise I thought the battle was quite well done, with quite a bit of trial and error on Michael's part to figure out something that would work. And inadvertently nailing mutated-Roselia with Brave Bird was awesome :)

Meanwhile, something's definitely up over in Galactic Land... Big fences, armed guards, a network of mysterious buildings, plans for some huge rocket-like project, and really unforgiving employees... Clearly much bigger things are going down here than anyone's aware of. Something that the higher-ups in the company really want to keep a secret. And with the government seemingly as their puppets, it looks like Galactic's going to be a powerful force of change and a tough group to try to get inside of.

The score: Galactic 2, News Team 0.

Anyway, quite a few interesting developments come to light, and I'm really enjoying reading as the mystery of team Galactic seems to deepen. I'll be awaiting the next chapter, whenever that may be xD

Haruka of Hoenn August 3rd, 2011 6:18 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6781927)
And I'm trying to think of what would get Bertha to change types over the years... one thing that comes to mind is Torterra is Grass-Ground... another is she gets in it really deep with Galactic and changes her type to try to "re-image" herself.


To put it short, Bertha's type change is a result of a change in taste when she becomes an Elite Four member. She does not do it on purpose to re-image herself, but finds that the change already happened on its own. Get it? (Idk if that made sense...)

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6781927)
(And I don't blame you for not using the newest set of Pokemon in the game - most of the new ones suck anyway. And for my story, I was actually gonna stick with just Generations 1-3 until we made the decision for Sadie to appear in mine :P)


I began this fic loooong before the new set was introduced, so even if I wanted to, including the new pokemon would have been jarring at the least. Besides, I sort of want this fic to be more Sinnoh-centric. Now that we're throwing up all this Unova hype, I think it would be nice to have a fic that takes you back a little.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6781927)
Compared to how she's depicted in the games, it was quite nice to see a more impatient and impulsive side of Bertha show during her meeting with your typical ineffective and incompetent government officials. Of course there's always the possibility she's mellowed out over the years, but Bertha going ballistic = awesome.


I agree wholeheartedly: ballistic Bertha = awesome. I had a lot of fun writing her. :)

As for the news crew, they're a very important group. But you probably know that already, given the attention I've been paying them in these two chapters.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6781927)
One thing about the battle... Turtwig should have been unaffected by Leech Seed, since the move doesn't work on fellow grass Pokemon.


I decided to make it work, because in 'reality', I think that Leech Seed is more of a normal-type move, since its functionality (to drain life) doesn't really have anything to do with grass. Meh. It's just a minor thing I have.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Elite Overlord LeSabre™ (Post 6781927)
Meanwhile, something's definitely up over in Galactic Land... Big fences, armed guards, a network of mysterious buildings, plans for some huge rocket-like project, and really unforgiving employees... Clearly much bigger things are going down here than anyone's aware of. Something that the higher-ups in the company really want to keep a secret. And with the government seemingly as their puppets, it looks like Galactic's going to be a powerful force of change and a tough group to try to get inside of.


EVIL FACTORY OF DOOM! I've always liked stories/movies that focus around an evil lair of some sort that always hangs in mystery. It's been too much fun fleshing that out in this fic. You'll see what happens in the next chapter. You'll see. It will be amazing.

And speaking of the next chapter, I've planned it, and I'm setting out to write it. NOTHING SHALL STOP ME!

Except maybe the new school year, which is once again right around the corner... these things happen so quickly. o.o;

Thanks for reviewing! See you next chapter!

Haruka of Hoenn August 31st, 2011 4:22 PM

All right kiddies, this chapter is a big one. Not in terms of length, but in terms of content. It gave a bit of trouble for some time because there were just so many things to keep track of :P

Anyways, I hope this was worth the wait. (I certainly won't be trying to type a chapter on two separate computers again, that's for sure...)

Read on.

And happy last day of August.



1.5

Morning.

The factory was spewing out an abundance of smoke, creating a little cloud over the hill that smeared its way into the rest of the town. Sunlight was sifted into bright patches along the road. Other than the steady grind of machinery from far away, all was quiet.

Michael was woken early by a panicked Henry, who wanted to get some more practice done before the battle. So, they went straight into the battle room and did a few practice rounds after a quick breakfast. Michael went over several scenarios and told Henry how to best counter each one, though he was fairly certain that everything would go well.

He could tell Henry was nervous, nevertheless. Long after they finished, the boy was still pacing around the battlefield, twiddling his thumbs and stealing frequent glances at the clock.

Bertha came into the battle room a few minutes late, rubbing her eyes. She had ditched the makeup, and her hair was slightly disheveled. “Sorry to keep you waiting, boys. It’s a fog day, if you haven’t noticed.” She stepped into the light and yawned.

When she saw them waiting patiently, she let out her breath. “You boys are pretty darn motivated. That’s a good asset to have. Some trainers that come here treat their stay like it’s a vacation. Then, of course, they get crushed by those that actually work.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Henry smiled, though the shaken look never left his eyes.

“So are you ready?” Bertha said.

Henry nodded.

“Well then let’s do this.”

She took her place at the battlefield, and Henry his.

“Go, Turtle!” Bertha’s Turtwig landed on the floor, fully rested from the night before.

Henry fumbled for his first pokéball. “Go, Starly!” The Starly dove out of the capsule and into the air. Bertha lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“All right Turtle, use Razor Leaf!” The Turtwig bent back its head and sent forth a storm of leaves.

“Starly, evade! Peck it!” said Henry.

Michael watched as the Starly looped out of the way of the leaves, speeding toward Turtle with its beak leading the way. It began to peck, jabbing at Turtwig’s soft underbelly.

“Turtle, pin it down! Use Stealth Rock!”

The Turtwig rolled over onto its feet, shielding itself from the Starly’s blows. The ring of rock sprouted from the ground beneath Starly and encased it, drawing out frightened squeals. Its entire torso was trapped, leaving its wings and head sticking out.

Henry rubbed his chin. He cast a fleeting glance at Michael, as if in a silent plea for help, but right then he seemed to steel himself and looked forward again. “Starly, come on!” he shouted. “Get out of it!”

The Starly continued to beat its wings. Bertha’s Turtwig stood a little bit away, eyes narrowed in concentration as it tried to hold the stones in place. But Starly was making gains, and Henry was egging it on, shouting with impressive force.

“Come on, you can do it! Get out of it!” He watched the Starly squirm. The stones crushed ever tighter on its legs. Henry drew back, and then a sudden idea lit up his face. “Come on! Get out of it just like you wanted to get out of the net!”

The Starly squawked. Something in the Turtwig’s strength faltered, and the stones loosened by a single inch. It was enough. Starly shot out of its prison like a black-winged bullet, and collided full-on into the Turtwig, pecking every place it could find.

“Yeah!” Henry jumped with joy. Michael smiled. As he did, he felt a curious lethargy sink over him. He gave a big, Bertha-like yawn, tipping back in his seat. His gaze drifted up towards the window for a moment. It was a bright day. Or, it would have been, if not for the screen of brown fog-smoke that smudged the sun. The clouds were thick and brown, but he could still see some patches of blue hidden behind the screen. When he looked closer, they seemed to form patterns, like broken shards of a puzzle. A shoe, a blade of grass, a cup...

“Turtle, withdraw!”

Michael bolted upright. He had almost forgotten the battle. Bertha’s Turtwig, still under fire from the Starly, was curling up into defensive mode. It pulled its head and limbs into the shell, becoming like a rock. Far from giving up, the Starly battered all the harder, whacking the shell with its wings and talons.

Bertha gave a soft laugh. “Wow. That’s one hell of a Starly you’ve got there. It’s like a one-man machine… I guess I’ll have to improvise a little. Turtle, return!” She held out the pokéball, and Turtwig’s shell melted away. Henry gaped.

“You can do that?”

Bertha clipped the pokéball back to her belt. “Why not? It’s not cheating, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She winked. “If anything, it’s good for you, because you get to see more of my team, and you’ll be prepared for when I send out Turtle next time. Go, Cherri!”

The Cherrim sprang from the second pokéball, all smiles and dancing petals.

“Use Magical Leaf!”

The Cherrim began to twirl in a similar fashion to Petal Dance, only this time it swept clusters of strange dark leaves around it. They shimmered as they tore through the air, with a speed and grace entirely unlike Razor Leaf.

“Starly, evade!” said Henry.

The Starly dove aside, but the leaves followed, striking its body from behind. Henry let out a cry as the Starly spun to the floor, struggling from its injured wings.

“It’s not a common attack,” said Bertha. “Cherri actually learned last month, but I only use it every other battle… I find that keeping some cards close to my chest is better for me in the long run.”

Henry looked down at the Starly, who was still flying, though clearly struggling to stay in the air. “Starly, use Brave Bird!”

The Starly obeyed, hurling itself at Cherri with every last bit of strength it had. Michael watched the pokémon wrangle. The Cherrim fell back under Starly’s blows, squealing.

“Nice one!” Bertha said. “But we’re not through just yet. Cherri, use—” Her mouth opened to announce her third pokémon, but at that moment, she stopped.

The silence was like a brief, curious break in a strand of thought. At first, it seemed like Bertha had simply changed her mind about what she was going to say, but as the pause in words grew longer, Michael began to think that there was something wrong.

Henry caught onto the signal a moment later. He relaxed his stance, and looked to Michael in confusion. Michael shrugged his shoulders in response.

Bertha hung still, ignoring them both. She was staring at the floor. And just then, after a moment of anticipation, the slightest sound broke the silence. It came from outside, beginning as a distant rumble, and then it rose into an echo like a speeding avalanche, or a million tiny pebbles skittering down a road.

The pokémon continued to brawl along the arena, scratching and biting at each other without any regard for their trainers. The sound traveled across the horizon, and died down, bringing a heavier silence than ever before. Even the machinery seemed to have gone quiet.


And then—


BOOM.


The sound exploded with such force that it shook the walls of the Gym, and all three of them clamped their hands to their ears against the great vibrations. The ceiling lamps wobbled, and a picture on Bertha’s desk fell flat on its face. The Starly began to panic, beating its wings and screeching.

A second crash followed the first, ending in a low, drawn-out rumble that was louder than the first. Michael gripped the edge of the bench for support, and Henry stumbled against the wall. Once the ground steadied, Bertha pocketed her pokéball and, as if by instinct, turned to the window.

When she looked back at Michael and Henry, her face was blank.

“Shit.”

It was coming from the factory.



//////



Morning light sifted through a tiny window near the ceiling, illuminating Nancy’s sleeping face. Her team was sprawled out around the table in poses of varying style, having given up comfort for the sake of rest. Ned was snoring.

When the rumble came, none of them stirred. The room shook ever so slightly, and a cloud of brown dust smeared over the window, blocking the light. The sound deepened, and Nancy was stirred awake. She felt slow and groggy, as if a rough hand had pulled her from her dreams.

She barely had time to register the situation when suddenly, the door to the detainment room burst open, and a group of security guards rushed in.

“Wake up! Wake up!” One of the them shook Nancy’s shoulders. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

“What... what is it?”

“Are you letting us go?” said Bobby.

“We’ve been ordered to take you with us,” said the guard. “There’s no time for questions. Let’s go.”

Nancy was still struggling to stay awake as the guard lifted her and rushed down the hallway. The rumbling grew steadily louder, until it escalated to such a degree that she could feel it beneath her shoes.

“What’s going on here?” she said. “Is it an earthquake?”

The guards did not answer. Two of them pushed open the doors, hands clamped over their mouths. Nancy barely caught a glimpse of daylight before her eyes reflexively closed, and she began to cough from the onset of smoke.

“Put this on. Now!” A gas mask was thrust into her hands. Nancy fumbled for the strap, tightening it around her head. The guard tugged on her arm, and she started to walk.

When Nancy opened her smarting eyes, she saw that the whole lot was swarming with people. Red lights were flashing on doors, and workers spilled out of buildings by the hundreds, pushing large crates on wheels. And above the wail of commotion, a computerized voice boomed at them like a siren:


“WARNING! THIS IS AN ORDERED EVACUATION FOR ALL ZONES. CRITICAL ENGINE FAILURE IN SECTOR U-74. THIRD-DEGREE BATTERY LEAKAGE IN THE 102 MAINFRAME. ALL PERSONS TO VACATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. WARNING! THIS IS AN ORDERED EVACUATION FOR ALL ZONES—”


Nancy looked up. Large volumes of thick brown smoke were gushing out from an unseen building, staining the sky like a pool of mud. Galactic workers were scurrying about like ants, lab coats flapping around their feet. No two people seemed to be going in the same direction, and yet they were all shouting at one another, a chorus of instructions and confused nomenclature. There were suddenly so many of them, that Nancy found herself wondering where they had all been hiding the night before.

“Let’s go!” The guard pulled on her arm again, and Nancy was forced into a run. They dodged the multitude of moving bodies, following what seemed like a predetermined path. Nancy caught glimpses of passing buildings, and of the guards looking around in desperation, but she couldn’t deduce where they were going. The gas mask was wrapped tight around her face, and each breath she took felt stale and deprived, as if only half of it was reaching her.

The company made a sharp turn, pulling her into what appeared to be a parking lot. Rows of trucks were lined up by a tall fence, and Galactic workers were loading them with all sorts of crates and boxes.

The guards led them towards the trucks, and among the white-coated workers, Nancy caught glimpse of a man in a black suit, one of the few who was also masked. He stood on an elevated platform with a megaphone, and was shouting at a group of truckers, arms waving.

“Leave everything! Leave everything that’s not vital to the project—I SAID LEAVE IT! No!”

He stumbled from the platform and wrenched a crate from a worker’s hands. The two exchanged a brief verbal quarrel, and then the worker stormed off, dropping it off to the side.

When the man in the suit saw the team of guards, he immediately broke away from his duty and approached them. He was shorter than the man from the marketplace, and when he came close, Nancy heard him breathe a sigh of relief.

“Great. Thank God. That’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

“Should we take them to transport, sir?” said one of the guards.

The man shook his head. “No. Our first priority is to get every living body out of here. We're not sure exactly what's going to happen yet, but we're treating it as a full-on emergency. The engines have been working overtime all night, and something in the system must have failed. I’m still waiting for a status report.”

The guard nodded, and the man turned to address Nancy's crew. “Mr. Webbs has decided not to press charges against you guys. You should thank your lucky stars, because I’m telling you, he came close. It if wasn’t for the leak, you’d all be sitting in a jail cell right now.”

As one, the team relaxed. In an instant, Nancy felt all the stress she had retained from the previous evening drain away. Ned and Bobby exchanged a high-five.

“That does not mean,” the man continued, “that we can forget what you tried to do. I want you to understand the severity of your actions. Our projects are top secret, and breaching our security is as good as a felony in this country. We have your data on file, and if it happens again, I don’t care if it’s the end of the world — you are going to jail. Understood?”

Nancy nodded, still unable to make words.

The man seemed about to say more, but at that moment, a masked worker ran up to them, panting from a long journey.

“Sir!” he said. “Both backup engines have crashed. The radiator’s leaking faster than we can plug it up. We—” He doubled over and gave a resounding cough, which incapacitated his ability to speak for several moments. “We’ve… done our best to stabilize the machine, but at this rate, I don’t think we have much time. The pressure’s building inside the chamber, and if it’s not drained soon, the whole building will explode.”

The man took this all in, and nodded. “How long do we have?”

“We’re not sure,” said the scientist. “I estimate about half an hour, but then the fumes will spread across the whole town and beyond. There’s no way to stop it. We’ve done all that was possible… The only thing left to do is to evacuate. I’m sorry.”

At the scientist’s words, the man clenched his fist and swore. “Damn… what about the XTC? Is it damaged? What about the ST Pod? And the AAC?” With each unintelligible acronym he named, the man’s voice grew more and more desperate, and the poor scientist was left stuttering. His panicked eyes darted from the man’s to the faces of Nancy and her team.

“Sir… the… no damage has been done to the XTC, and the STP is in transport. But the AAC… some of the gases inside it have leaked, and it’s corroded the metal casing… I… I gave the order to unassemble it, and—”

“You WHAT?”

“—isolated all the undamaged parts to prepare them for storage, but given the state of what was lost, it’s likely that the machine will need to be reconstructed, at least partially—”

The man slapped his hand to his forehead. He muttered something, but Nancy only caught the tail of it— “… sure as hell won’t be happy about this…”

The scientist stiffened as if for a verbal blow, but the man quickly collected himself. “All right. Recover all that you can and get it onto transport asap. I’ll notify Veilstone. It might delay things, but if you work fast, then we might avoid a major stall.”

The scientist nodded. “Yes sir.”

“And the town. Tell me about the town.”

The scientist fidgeted. “Sir, I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do. We have to impose an evacuation order. I advise getting everyone at least ten miles away from here. I don’t know how severe the damage will be, but we can’t risk anything. The gases are highly reactive. Eterna could be rendered uninhabitable.”

At this, Nancy felt her blood chill. The thought of a such pure, green town turning into a chemical wasteland was difficult to fathom. It had been a long time since she had been surrounded by nature to such a degree—in fact, Nancy hadn’t seen a forest since she left her hometown of Fortree City in Hoenn, which was ten years ago. She was actually starting to feel a sort of kinship with Eterna, something she had never felt before in any city.

Nancy held her breath as she waited for the man’s reaction. His composure did not change in the slightest, and his eyes remained cold behind the glass of his mask.

“Okay,” he said, after a moment. “I’ll make sure to mention that possibility. Now go. Every second counts.”

The scientist nodded, and ran off. The man turned to face the team one last time. “Your guards will now escort you to Eterna’s train station. From there, you’re on your own. Put as much distance between you and the town as you can, and make sure your friends do likewise. Understood?”

“But can’t we just drive away?” Nancy said. “We have a van.”

“Van?” He scowled. “This is no time for vans! Do you understand the concept of spontaneous combustion, and how fast a pressurized chemical leak can spread? A van won’t get you away from that in time. You need to board a train and get the hell out of here.”

Nancy bit her lip, dreading a response. Tom nudged her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said. “All the equipment that matters is gone. We’d have to start over anyway.”

“Yeah, that van was a piece of crap,” Bobby added. “Remember that week when it broke down three times in a row?”

Ned also nodded his approval. “They’re right, Nancy. That van was more trouble than it was worth. If anything,” he smiled, “we’ll be able to sneak up on people better if we don’t show off our team logo everywhere we go.”

Nancy looked at them, surprised by their sudden optimism. “Who are you people and what did you do with my friends?”

Tom laughed. “It’s okay. None of us are going to back out on this because of one little thing. We’re a team, remember?” He looked at Ned, who gave a thumbs-up.

Nancy lowered her head. “Fine. We’ll take the train.”

The Galactic man nodded. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other. I sincerely hope you’ve taken what I said earlier into mind, and that our two organizations will never cross paths again.”

“I hope so too,” Nancy said before she could stop herself.

With that, the man turned on his heel and hurried back to the podium. Nancy didn’t have time to watch the proceedings, for the guards immediately began to steer her in the opposite direction. They were led to the factory gates, which had been thrown open for smaller vehicles, and for workers running for their lives.

Beneath the hill, the town was stirring.



//////



“Yes. Hello? This is Bertha Herrida. I want to — no, you listen to me! I don’t care about your stupid rules, I want you to transfer my call to that goddamn factory right now, and I want to know why the hell a bomb just went off in my backyard! Hello?”

Bertha tapped the receiver with her manicured nails, but there was evidently no response. Outside, the air was growing dense with brown smoke, and it was beginning to smear the windows of the battle room with soot. Michael placed his hands upon the sill, trying to see past the growing cloud.

Henry, meanwhile, was chasing the Starly across the battle floor, trying to catch it while it repeatedly sought to escape him. It had begun to screech and flap in evident agitation, and had backed itself into a corner where it lay trembling.

“No. Bad Starly. Bad. Come here. To me, Starly.” Henry tried various tones, from gentle to harsh, but the Starly seemed unwilling to leave its hiding place. In manic rage, it dove out from under the bench and bumped its head on the water cooler, falling back down again.

“What’s wrong with him?” Henry said. "Starly's never been like this before."

“He’s probably loaded,” Michael snickered. “Are you sure that pokémon food of yours is safe?”

“Not funny,” Henry said. He unclipped Starly’s pokéball and aimed it. “Sorry, buddy. You’re going back.” In a torrent of white, the Starly was sucked back into the capsule. When it was done, Henry looked at Bertha. “Did you call them?”

“Not yet,” Bertha said. “They’re giving me the damn hold.” She waited several minutes, stealing glances at the window. "They might be doing some sort of stupid experiment."

"Can we go check?" said Michael.

"No way. I'm not letting you outside when there's smoke from God-knows-what in the air. You'll get sick." Bertha twisted the thick cord with her finger. Finally, her face lit up, and she spoke into the phone. “Well it’s about time! What—”

She froze. The person on the other end was talking loudly and hurriedly, and though Michael couldn’t decipher the words, he could tell by Bertha's expression that it was something bad. She put down the phone a minute later.

"What is it?" said Henry.

“Follow me. Let's go." Bertha went for the door. Confused, Michael followed her up the stairs. Henry ran along behind, gasping.

“Wait! Bertha, what’s happening?”

Bertha did not answer. They ascended to the main level of the house, and when they reached the front door, Bertha led them outside. Instantly, Michael was consumed by a flood of noise.

Eterna was in chaos. Screams and bangs blended with the wail of sirens, and torrents of people were moving down the road as if in a protest march. Some carried luggage bags, others went empty-handed. They were pushing and shouting, all running from the factory, where a giant black cloud hovered like a hole in the sky.

“Whoa!” Henry pointed. “Look at that!”

Michael turned to the north, and nearly did a double-take at what he saw. The factory loomed over them like a huge injured beast, belching a mix of fire and soot from its towers that rained down upon the masses. As of by instinct, Bertha gripped their shoulders and pulled them close.

“They’ve finally done it. They’ve finally crossed the line. It was only a matter of time.” She lowered her head, closing her eyes. “Oh God…”

The gates to the factory were wide open, and people in white coats were spilling out like a waterfall. Some had already reached the bottom of the hill, and were running through the streets, their eyes wide with panic. Michael realized who they were—Galactic workers.

“Get out!” one of them yelled as they passed. “This is an ordered evacuation! We’re releasing toxic fumes into the air! The whole building will explode in twenty minutes! You have to leave, now!”

The stream of workers pushed through the Eterna residents, repeating the same warning. The streets were thrown up into a chorus of angry shouts, and the Eterna folk began to push and jab at the workers.

“Damn you, Galactic!” someone said. “Go burn in your own waste!”

There was a roar of approval. A mob swarmed around the inflow of Galactic workers, blocking them from view. Michael heard more screams.

Bertha gritted her teeth. “Get your stuff, boys. And be quick about it.”

“Wait,” Henry said. “You mean all these people have to leave? How?”

“The train station,” Bertha replied. “It’s the only way. Now go on. Hurry.”

She went back inside with them, and they scrambled to gather their things. Michael scooped his belongings into his backpack, and Henry gathered his tote bag and the Stunky’s cage. Bertha took a little bit longer, and met them by the door with her purse and a strange briefcase. She quickly pushed them outside to join the mass of people moving forward.

“We’ll be going to Hearthome City,” she said. “I have business there, and you’ll be able to get to your next Gym.”

“But Bertha,” said Henry, “what about my battle?”

Bertha tightened her grip on their arms. “Worry about that later. Let’s go.”

She pulled them down the street, into the town center. The whole of Eterna seemed to have wakened from the disaster. People were peering out of windows, stepping out of doors to see what all the commotion was about. When their eyes moved over to the factory, their eyes widened in shock, and they withdrew, later throwing open their doors with armfuls of luggage. And then they joined the flow of traffic, becoming a part of the movement themselves.

Bertha wove through the crowds, keeping an iron grip on their shoulders throughout. Michael stole frequent glances at the factory, and each time he looked, the cloud overhead became thicker and darker. A line of trucks was moving downhill from a side exit, bearing crates stamped with the Team Galactic logo. They followed the road, then turned unseen into a separate direction. The distant wail of sirens that rose up with the noise and fog sounded like the tolling bells of the apocalypse.

On top of that, Galactic workers were coming into the town by the hundreds. After the initial outpour, the remaining workers walked in an orderly, almost mechanical fashion. They kept their distance from the Eternians, marching forward with their heads ducked down, like students in a fire drill. Most of them carried luggage of their own, and all of them wore gas masks. They could have been soldiers, or policemen.

As they passed, the Eternians looked upon the workers with sour loathing, and instantly began to shout all sorts of verbal abuse at them. Several people even stopped to throw sticks and pebbles. And yet the workers walked, keeping a mystic sort of air about them, impassive to the jeers of the masses.

At one point, Bertha leaned over to whisper in Michale's ear. “You might as well stop looking. After this, I hope you realize that Galactic’s not all what it makes itself out to be, and that those workers are the same tormented idiots as the rest of us. This town has done a lot of things for them, and they’ve never given back.”


Michael barely remembered the next few minutes, save for more noise and shouting, the rapidly darkening sky, and more people joining the movement. It all felt surreal, as if he was stuck in an extended dream that he couldn't wake up from.

The Eterna train station, when they reached it, was the most crowded building in town. The majority of the traffic was directed inside, and though it was huge, the building clearly wasn't designed to hold the entire population of Eterna at once.

Nearly all the seats in the lobby were occupied, which left a multitude of people to stand against the walls, moving aside the decorative plants and statues. Bertha managed to find two vacant chairs, albeit not very good ones, and left them to settle down while she went over to the counter. A private seating area was arranged for the Galactic workers, some with belongings of their own, and many of whom were still wearing their safety gear.

Michael watched their movements carefully, and though none of them spoke, hel wondered what was running through their minds at that moment. Their factory was burning, and whatever they had been working on had been reduced to cinders.

As the old Space Race-obsessed part of his mind kicked in, Michael felt anger blossom within him. First Deoxys, and now the factory… it seemed that the very universe was conspiring against him, and his will for Sinnoh to gain victory. He wondered when the news would reach the rest of Sinnoh, if it would at all. The he thought of his friends again, Cory and Brendan, but this time their faces no longer made him dream of home. He felt detached from his old life, somehow, as if all those old memories were no longer his.

From the seat beside him, Henry spoke. “This is really scary,” he whispered.

Michael nodded. “I guess.”

In truth, he was slightly unsettled at the sight of the panic, for he had not expected that a place like Eterna could produce so much mayhem in so little time. He looked down at the Stunky, which was pacing around the cage, its tail twitching. It kept looking up at the windows and sniffing, as if it could already sense the onset of poison gas.

Henry looked at the people in the lobby, and to the crowds outside. “All these people… they’re losing their home. It’s sad."

“Be thankful they’re not losing their lives.”

Henry’s gaze fell to the floor. He did not speak until Bertha came back.

“Listen, boys.” She knelt down beside them. “The trains are loaded. I managed to get us spots on the ride to Hearthome, but since everyone is traveling out of the city, they have to stagger the departures. The Galactics will leave first, on the train to Veilstone. Then the train to Solaceon—”

“Wait a minute!” Henry looked up. “The Galactics are leaving first? Isn’t it a little rude of them to leave before everyone else, since they’re the ones who are behind the problem?”

Bertha closed her eyes. “Look. I don’t like it either. But that’s how it is right now, and you’ll have to deal with it.”

“Still!” Henry said, rising. “It’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Michael retorted. Henry gave him a glare, but sat back down.

“Unfortunately, he’s right,” said Bertha. “Don’t worry. If anything, we’ll sneak aboard a train to some other town and go from there. What’s more important is your safety. All right?”

Henry nodded, resting his chin in his hands. Bertha rubbed his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

The boy let out a long sigh. “We never got to finish our battle,” he mumbled.

Bertha rolled her eyes, but at the same time she smiled. “Kid…” She pulled the Forest Badge from her purse and placed it into Henry’s hand. “Here. It’s yours.”

Henry gaped. “What? But I… but I didn’t win! We never… I…”

Bertha chuckled. “I don’t need to finish a battle to tell a good trainer from a bad one. Hell, I can get by just by watching how a person prepares. I’ve seen you and Michael working your butts off for my battle, and I’m proud of you for that. What impressed me even more is how you battled today. You persevered, and you led that little Starly in battle like a freaking military commander. If our match had been just a bit longer, you definitely would’ve beaten little Turtle.”

Henry beamed. “Wow. I didn’t know you could… I mean, that you were allowed to do that!”

“It’s called leader discretion. If I think someone deserves the badge, I’ll give it to them. Usually, it’s settled by a complete battle, but it doesn’t always have to be. What I liked most,” Bertha continued, “is the way you and Michael worked together. I’ve seen a lot of kids come in groups to my Gym, but none of them are quite like you two.”

Michael blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Definitely. All the other groups I see end up quarreling and staring these stupid rivalries with one another. But you two are the first pair I’ve seen that actually works together and shares the benefits.”

Michael and Henry exchanged a glance. “Thanks, Bertha,” Henry said.

Bertha smiled. “No problem. Now...” She checked her watch. “I’m going to make a quick call. You boys stay put, all right?”

“Okay,” Henry said.

Bertha left. They sat alone for a while, watching more and more people file into the lobby. Michael was happy to return to his thoughts, when Henry suddenly perked up again.

“Hey, I have an idea!”

“What?”

“There should be a pay phone somewhere here, right? We should call home. Just so our parents know what’s happening.”

Suddenly, Michael’s mood darkened. It was as if a switch had gone off inside of him, bringing a sudden reminder to the forefront of his mind. Michael passed off this sudden shift with a shrug. “Mmm.”

Henry bounced up from the chair. “Come on. I have some coins.”

“I’ll pass,” Michael said. “I’ll call home when I get to Hearthome.”

Henry frowned. “Well okay. I’ll be right back.” He bounded off. Several nondescript minutes later, he returned, happily holding his coin bag. “All done! My mom’s glad I’m okay. She says to be careful in Hearthome and stuff, but other than that, she’s excited that I finally got past Byron.”

“Whoop de doo.”

Henry sat down beside him. “You should call home too.”

“I said I’ll pass.”

“Why?”

Michael sighed. “Just… nothing.” He turned away from Henry, indicating that he didn't want to talk any more. The trains to Veilstone and Solaceon were called, and the troupe of Galactic workers shuffled out of the station, along with a great number of Eternians.

Several minutes later, the call for Hearthome came.

“Attention!” came a voice over the loudspeaker. “All passengers to Hearthome City please board! All passengers to Hearthome City please board!”

Michael stood without preamble. “Come on.”

“Wait!” Henry said. “We should wait for Bertha. She's not back yet.”

“Too late. Let’s go.”

They grabbed their belongings and rose with the other Hearthome passengers. The train awaited them outside, stretched out beneath the sun. The smoke had advanced completely over the town, and what little light there was left shone feebly over the station.

The passengers huddled on the platform together, and boarded one by one. The air in the train was hot and stiff. Michael went as far back as he could, picking a compartment well off from the others. He plopped down next to the window, and Henry beside him.

"All right, what is the deal with you?" said the boy. "Why are you so mad all of a sudden?”

Michael remained silent.

"Talk to me!" Henry nudged his shoulder. "Is something wrong? You can tell me. What is it?”

“Can’t you just be quiet for once?”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Henry put his hands on his hips, and Michael groaned.

"When I left my house and went to Route 203, I didn't exactly have my mother's permission to go."

"What do you mean?"

"Urgh, I ran away from home, okay?" This came out pretty loudly, and Michael was instantly grateful for the thin wall that separated them from the others. "I can't let my mom know where I am. If she finds me, she'll bring me home and put bars on my window."

Henry's eyes widened. "You ran away from home? Why?"

"Because." Michael gritted his teeth. "She grounded me. And I didn't want to waste my summer in my room."

"But why didn't you just wait it out? What's the worst she could have done to you?"

"Will you stop asking questions? You don't know shit about my home life. I had it ten times worse than you ever will."

"Well, maybe if you talked about it..."

"That's the thing, dweeb. I don't want to talk about it. For once, I want to leave my old life behind me and start fresh. It's the big mouths like you who get in the way!"

"But your mom and dad probably miss you. They want you home."

Michael looked away, clenching his fist. "I don't have a dad. Now if you don't shut that mouth of yours, I'll do it for you."

Henry fell silent. Outside, it was bright and hazy. The land on his side was undeveloped, except for a strip of fencing that bordered the station's property. From his seat, Michael could see all the way up to the mountains.

The train started with a loud roar that shook the walls. The landscape began to roll by. Michael closed his eyes.

Over the hum of the engine, he heard a whisper.

"... Neither do I."



//////



“Ow! Ow, that was my foot! Stop stepping on me!”

“You’re the one stepping on me!

“How is your shoe on my foot me stepping on you?”

“Shut up already,” Nancy groaned. “I’ve been humiliated enough this week. I don’t need your contribution.”

Tom and Bobby fell silent. Ned stepped between them and opened the compartment door. “Here. This is far enough.”

The team shuffled into the empty compartment, placing the various luggage bags on the floor around their feet. As everyone sat down, Bobby peered out of the glass. “Wow. I just saw the hottest chick walk by…”

Tom nudged his shoulder. “Shut up and look straight, will you?”

Bobby chuckled. “What? I have a weakness for blondes. And this one’s a fox… she looks like she could be a freaking model. Holy shit, she’s coming this way.”

Bobby turned away from the window just in time as a tall, curvy woman stopped in front of them. She took a quick peek into their compartment, and turned back to sit in a vacant one across from them. She closed the door and pulled down the blinds, hiding her silhouette from view.

“Secretive much,” Bobby muttered. “I wonder what she had in that briefcase.”

“Maybe she’s a spy from Team Galactic,” said Tom.

“Or maybe—”

“Guys,” Nancy said. “Please.”

Bobby stopped. “Oh. Right.”

But Nancy wasn’t in the mood to take it further. She slumped in her seat, leaning against the window. “This sucks.”

Nancy looked at her teammates, and simultaneously they looked at her. They were silent. Outside, the chugging motor could be heard as the train sped through open land.

“Well, what now?” said Bobby.

“What do you mean? We just survived an encounter with Team Galactic and made it out of a nuclear apocalypse. I think that’s more than enough reason to appreciate life as it is right now,” said Ned.

But Nancy shook her head. “No, he’s right. I have to think… We need a story before the twenty-fifth… We need a place to look.”

“Well, Hearthome’s pretty good,” said Tom. “They have the Contest Hall, and the Game Corner, and… loads of places. Right?”

Nancy turned towards the window, which had only just begun to smear with train smoke. She could still see the town behind them.

Suddenly, there was a chorus of gasps. Nancy looked towards the factory, just in time to see one of the smokestacks fall, snapping off from its base like a twig and falling onto the buildings below. It exposed a bare, blackened pit, where bright-orange flames licked the edges of ruin like the tongue of hell.

At that point, there was another great boom, and a torrent of fire and smoke swallowed the factory whole. For a few seconds, the whole of the hill was engulfed by a black cloud, where tiny trails of smoke trickled down like magma from a volcano.

Nancy heard muffled movement from the other seats as people pressed their hands to the glass to watch. The sight was both beautiful and terrifying. The flames caught on trees, and smoke drifted atop houses. Flocks of Starly took off from the trees, flapping and screeching.

Nancy did not tear away her gaze until the town was reduced to a flaming speck on the horizon. The tingle inside of her never quite went away, even when she turned from the window and looked at her hands, convincing herself that it all didn't matter. Then the train entered a stone tunnel, and a black wall was dropped over everything, blocking her sight of the world for good.

Just like that, Eterna was gone.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ September 7th, 2011 6:40 AM

Sorry, short review.

Anyway, I really liked this chapter. The whole concept of a factory meltdown is awesome, and in retrospect I should have included a few meltdowns of my own in my stories :P I still have to wonder what went wrong and what all the strange projects/devices are that were being mentioned as things were going to hell in a handbasket. The chaotic scene was done quite well, and works well since there was pretty much no advance warning of the impending doom (compare to the recent tropical storm systems when people were given plenty of advance warning).

Well, at least it looks like our reporter friends have been spared the extent of Galactic's political clout and wrath, though at the expense of an entire town's livelihood. I wonder what kinds of sticky situations they're gonna get into in Hearthome.

And you're right... '60's vans were pieces of crap.

Can't say I like too much the idea of handing out a badge without seeing a battle to its conclusion (reminds me too much of the godawful anime) but given the situation, I don't think it could have been handled any other way... when a factory's going boom right in front of you, finishing a gym battle seems like it should be the least of anyone's concerns :P But now I'm worried about Bertha not catching the train. Did she do this on purpose and for what reason?

Well, I'll be looking forward to the next chapter. Good work on this one:)

Haruka of Hoenn September 10th, 2011 10:34 AM

Hey LeSabre! I'm glad you liked the chapter :)

And why does everyone keep thinking that Bertha didn't catch the train? I specifically mentioned the lady with the briefcase in the Nancy and Co. part of the chapter to make it clear. xP

Quote:

Bertha took a little bit longer, and met them by the door with her purse and a strange briefcase.
Quote:

“Secretive much,” Bobby muttered. “I wonder what she had in that briefcase.
The reason I didn't include Bertha's arrival on the train in the Michael/Henry scene was because I wanted it to be more of a moment between the boys.

And yes, I agree that factory meltdown scenes are awesome. :P I've actually been waiting to blow up the Eterna factory since Chapter 11, so I've had quite a few of these scenes planned already. Don't you just love extra info?

Team Galactic is definitely cooking up something, but what it is remains to be discovered... Hearthome City will definitely be a good place to be. I surprised myself by getting the first 11 pages of Chapter 16 done in only a few days. I'm hoping to post it sometime before or at the end of this week, so stay tuned!

Thanks for the review :)

Haruka of Hoenn September 16th, 2011 1:03 PM

1.6

The train chugged into the tunnel, and for several hours afterward, the windows were masked with black. In response, the lights in the compartments flickered on, bathing the interior in steady orange light.

It was the first time Michael had been underground. The sensation was peculiar, and his mind somehow likened it to being underwater. He sat with his legs spread out on the seat, facing the window. His eyes lingered on the black; it was the purest shade he had ever seen. Darker than tires. Darker than the night.

Against the lighting, Michael could see his reflection in the window, almost like a mirror. His eyes were narrowed into slits, and his hair was sticking out oddly at the sides. He saw Henry's reflection too, from the seat across from him.

The boy was facing the compartment door, fiddling with the edges of his shirt. On the whole he seemed unoccupied, though occasionally he took out random items from his tote bag and turned them over in his hands. Pokéballs. Tissues. Pencils. He had brought a book as well, nearly as thick as his arm. Michael wanted to ask him if he had another, but decided against it. Henry didn't look in Michael's direction. Not once.

After a while, the train's jerks and jumps became tiring. Michael decided to occupy himself with his chart. He added a new heading for 'Flying', and listed it as Effective against grass. But other than that, there was nothing to do.

He did not know at what point he and Henry had begun to talk. It was sometime around noon, which he could tell because Henry started taking out a small sandwich from his tote bag and a bottle of water. He tried with many grunts to open it, but the cap wouldn't budge. Finally, the boy sighed.

"Would you open this please?" He held out the bottle to Michael, who took it and opened it with ease.

"Here."

"Thanks." Henry began to drink greedily. When he lowered the bottle, it was half empty.

The two boys looked at each other for a while, in total silence. It seemed like an invitation to talk.

"You say you don't have a dad either?" Michael began. "What happened to him?"

At first, it seemed like Henry wouldn't answer. He put the water bottle into his bag and took a bite out of his sandwich.

"He left. I was only four, and my mom caught him with another woman. They argued a lot, and he just packed his things and left. I remember. They got a divorce. My mom explained everything to me when I was old enough, and she said that it was time to move on. So we did." Henry paused. "She got another job, and she still had a lot of money so she could send me to a good school in Floaroma."

Michael nodded. "That's good. That you moved on like that, I mean. Wish my family could do that..."

"What happened to your dad?" Henry inquired.

"He died,” Michael said, surprised by his impassive tone. Henry flinched.

"Wow, I'm really sorry. Are you... better now? How is your family?"

"Well, my two brothers left, so now it's just me and my mom. Of course, I left, so now it's just my mom."

"Why did your brothers leave?"

Michael scowled. "Brian was a know-it-all. He went to some fancy-shmancy boarding school, and I haven't seen him since. And Richard... he left because he wanted to start over."

Henry studied him. "And you left too, because you wanted to start over."

"Yeah."

"So... did you have any friends back home?"

"Two. Cory and Brendan." Michael smiled. "Awesome guys."

"They probably miss you."

"I guess. But they'll understand why I left. If I had told them the reason, then they'd understand me perfectly."

Henry nodded.

They fell into silence again, though Michael felt more relaxed than before. He leaned against the window and closed his eyes, ignoring the train's bumps and shudders. His only concept of time was the flick of turning pages.

Then there came a knock on their compartment door. Through the glass, Michael saw Bertha. She slid open the door.

“Mind if I scoot in? Sorry I took so long, boys, but I had some things to look over.”

Michael slid over to make room, and she sat down, clapping her hands together.

“All right, so we’re officially headed for Hearthome City. Fortunately, you won’t have to wander around all by yourselves, because I’ll be sticking with you. At least, for a while I’ll be.”

Henry beamed. “That’s awesome!” Michael was also pleased, for he had grown to like Bertha over the few days they had been together.

“But it won’t be all fun and games, I’m telling you,” Bertha warned. “If I ever catch you two goofing off, I’ll take away your badges and you’ll have to battle me all over again. And this time, I’ll be using a Golem, a Hitmonlee, and a Steelix. So you better watch it.”

Michael and Henry began to laugh. Bertha smiled, but Michael could tell that her heart wasn’t really in it. Her face was sullen, and she looked as if the last few hours had drained away all her energy. And he didn’t have to ask why.

It had been scarcely three days since they had left Oreburgh for the quiet, leafy neighborhood of Eterna. In his mind, Michael could still picture the town as it had been before, with its cracked roads and cozy buildings. The thought that the whole town was now flooded with toxic waste was almost an absurdity. He still half-expected to see Bertha’s sunny home again, and go to sleep staring at the patterned wallpaper of the guest room.

But just like that… boom.

Even now, a part of him wondered if it had been some bizarre case of bad karma, and if the explosion wouldn’t have happened if he had never set foot in Eterna. Michael knew this was irrational, and could comfortably put aside the thought, though he couldn’t quite get over the feeling that something inside of him had shaken, had moved from its place when he laid eyes on the burning Galactic factory.

It’s just a town. You’ll be in hundreds of others. It’s just a town.

But it wasn’t just a town. And he knew it. The tiny purse in Bertha’s lap was only a fraction compared to what she had lost.

Henry looked at Bertha in concern, as if he had been thinking the exact same thoughts. “Bertha, what about your house?” said Henry. “If you go to Hearthome with us, you won’t have a place to live.”

Bertha shrugged. “This is all I need, really.” She patted her purse. “My pokémon, my wallet, my Gym credentials, and some makeup. Home away from home.” She smiled, though dimly.

Henry began to wiggle his feet, and, as if by accident, his toes touched the briefcase. “Then what’s in there?”

Bertha let out a breath. “Nothing that concerns you two. But if you really want to know… I’m starting a petition. I’ll be collecting the signatures of all the Gym leaders, and some of the League staff if I can get my hands on them. Then, I’m going to send it to the Sinnoh President. Enough is enough. If Galactic doesn’t change their ways soon, then the Pokémon League is as good as dead.”

Michael frowned. “But Team Galactic’s got nothing to do with the Pokémon League. The Space Program is what’s putting money into the economy. Wouldn’t that be good for the League?”

Bertha snorted. “That’s only the half of it, Mr. Space Race. You know that Team Galactic runs on federal funds, right?”

Michael nodded.

“And you also know that the League does too?”

“Yeah.”

Bertha continued. “Now the League’s been around since 1750. That’s 213 years in the business. Know any family-owned restaurants that go back that far?”

Henry gaped. “Wow.”

“That’s right,” Bertha said. “Of course, I don’t know much about how it operated all those years ago, but right now, the League is a federally-owned system. It has its own department and everything. What keeps it alive is the money the government sets aside every year. That money is used to build Gyms, hire Gym leaders, staff, build hotels, the whole works. The League gets a little bit of money from trainer fees and merchandise, but only a small percentage. Without federal support, it wouldn’t exist. Now Team Galactic,” she eyed Michael, “also runs off of federal funds. It’s a fairly new company. I’m not sure exactly when it came around—”

“1951,” Michael said.

“—Okay, so 1951. That’s about… twelve years. Twelve years ago that the government decided that it wanted to start shooting giant hunks of steel into the air and started the Space Program. And those rockets are expensive—I bet they cost about two million apiece. That doesn’t include all the workers Galactic hires, or the ridiculous salary they probably earn for keeping everything they do a secret. So for those twelve years, the federal government has been setting aside nearly half of its budget for Team Galactic. And as a result, less money gets to the League.”

“But wait,” Michael said, “If the League’s out of money, how can it afford to maintain all those hotels? What happened to them being rich?”

“The League is rich, but it won’t be for much longer. It’s been getting steadily poorer over the years, actually—it’s just that for now, the increments are tiny, so it’s easy to cover up. But if the government continues to do what it’s doing, which is sacrificing us in favor of the Galactics, then the League will suffer.”

“So where does your petition come in?” asked Henry.

Bertha folded her hands in her lap. “I want the government to cut some of its funds from Team Galactic and give the League back the money it deserves. To put it bluntly, it’s the only way to make a change.”

Henry’s jaw dropped. Michael’s did too, but for an entirely different reason.

“They can’t cut money from the Space Program!” he blurted. “That would be like cutting Sinnoh’s throat! Team Galactic is what’s leading progress, and if you take that away, then Hoenn will—I mean, then we’ll have nothing to uphold the country!”

Bertha smiled. “You sound exactly like a friend of mine at the town council. Yeah, it’s true that Team Galactic is doing some good. But so what? Sinnoh got along just fine without it. And if the Galactics got paid a few hundred thousand dollars less every year, I don’t think it would matter to them. They’re big enough to get by, but the League isn’t. If the government keeps cutting our funds, there will be no more trainer hotels. No more free battles. No more prize money. Nothing. All those fancy Gyms will crumble, and unless the cities are rich enough to maintain them on their own, then there will likely be more of my Gym.”

“But then it wouldn’t be the League anymore!” Henry said. “Everything would be different!”

“Well, like it or not, but that’s what will happen. Heck, that’s what’s happening already. You’ve seen the evidence right here.” She spread her arms out wide. “My battle room was a frigging basement. Now, I managed to get by, but what about all the upper-division Gyms who have an entire team of staff running things? They won’t stand a chance.” She looked at Michael. “It’s kind of odd that you’re arguing against the League, kiddo, since by being a trainer you’re practically a part of it right now.”

Michael remained still.

Bertha pulled up her briefcase and spun the dials on the lock, taking out a clipboard and a pen. “Anyways… now that you know what I’m doing, I might as well ask a favor of you.” She looked at the boys, now seriously. “I know it’s a lot to be asking, but could I have your signatures? Legally, I need at least one hundred thousand from Sinnoh citizens, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m going for two, maybe even three. It’ll be one hell of a job, but if I can get around well enough, I might be able to do it. I won’t force you if you don’t want to, so don’t worry.”

Henry immediately grabbed the pen and scribbled his name onto the next open slot. “I want to do something about this,” he said. “It’s not fair for Team Galactic to be taking money away from us, especially since practically everyone follows the League. All my friends are official trainers, even!”

Bertha offered the clipboard to Michael, who shook his head.

“No. I can’t.”

Bertha sighed. “I can respect that. But if you ever change your mind, I suppose, just tell me.” She placed the clipboard back and locked the briefcase. “I had to do some editing on it, though. Originally, the second part of it was about getting rid of the Eterna factory too, but as we can see, there’s no point now.” Her eyes trailed over to the window. Though there was nothing to see, she seemed to be pondering something in the darkness.

“It’ll be another two hours, I guess,” she said after a while. “When we arrive in the city, no matter what, stay close to me. I’m friends with the Gym leader, so hopefully I’ll be able to introduce you to him and get your battles booked. Until then, relax.” Bertha took a deep breath. “I should relax too… all this commotion has made me realize how much sleep I’ve been missing lately.” She yawned. “Wake me up when we get there, all right?”

“Sure,” Michael said.

Bertha placed her belongings to the side and closed her eyes.


//////


Michael did not know at what point he felt the train slow. It happened gradually, and as the rhythm of the engine faded, a string of tiny lights appeared behind the window, illuminating the walls of a widening tunnel.

Michael leaned to peer out of the glass. The train had brought them to an indoor platform, which was plain and crudely carved from cement. Huge lamps hung from the ceiling, bringing light to the masses of people walking about.

Bertha shifted beside him. “We’re here,” she said. “This is the Hearthome subway.”

When the train came to a complete stop, Michael, Henry, and Bertha rose from their seats and stepped off the train along with the other passengers. The air in the subway was hot and stiff, and in the greenish light, everyone’s skin took on a pale, sickly appearance.

The Eternians huddled together on the platform, whispering to each other. Some went their own way, but others remained, bewildered in their new surroundings. Bertha, in contrast, seemed perfectly comfortable in such a large crowd, and for the most part knew where to go. She often stopped to look at signs, as if checking for a change that might have been made at some point, but overall, Bertha led the boys swiftly around the terminal.

They reached a long flight of stairs that led up to the lobby. Here, breathing was easier, and the station’s sleek architecture was on full display.

The lobby was organized and efficient, far removed from the plain, low-ceilinged building in Eterna. Torrents of people were filing in and out of several archways, beneath digital charts of departures and arrivals. Concession stands and service stations were spaced across the enormous floor, and the walls were decorated with banners and advertisements. Directly across from them, on the other side of the lobby, were two sets of glass doors that led into the city.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” Bertha tightened her hands around their shoulders. “We’ll walk to the hotel. I’m pretty sure I know where it is, but I’ll get a map just in case. Then we’ll rent a cab and go to book your battles. Okay?”

Michael nodded.

Bertha took a map from a rack near the wall, and they went off to the doors. When he stepped outside, Michael was immediately overwhelmed by a flood of noise and movement, the familiar environment of the city. The subway station was located in the middle of a busy street, which was jammed with both people and cars. The familiar wall of buildings that enclosed him made Michael think of Jubilife City, and he felt a brief shock when he realized that he was now on the other side of the country. And yet, everything was the same… the sunglasses perched atop mounds of hair, the faces peering out from glittering cars instantly reminded him of home.

Michael looked aside, and saw that Henry, as usual, was wearing a smile. Every time they passed a flashing panel of lights or saw a particularly impressive car, he pointed, his mouth forming an ‘O’ of surprise.

“Look at that! That’s so cool!”

“It’s not when you keep pointing,” Michael muttered. “That’s what the lame people do.”

Henry pouted. “I’m not lame.”

“If you do lame things, then yes you are. It’s time you learned how to be cool.”

“But I don’t know how,” Henry said. “And if you know so much about it, then why don’t you tell me?”

Michael shrugged. “What’s there to tell? If you want to be cool, then just be cool. Walk normally, as a start. Take me for example. Sure, I look around at stuff, but I don’t go pointing and jumping like a third-grader. Just relax and be casual.”

Henry began to imitate Michael’s stride, shoving his fists into his pockets. They were slightly too small for his hands, so he improvised again and let his arms hang by his sides, rounding his shoulders. Henry grimaced. “This feels weird.”

“That’s because you’re copying me. Don’t. Find your own groove.”

Henry puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. “This is hard. I’m going to walk my own way again.” He drew himself up and went back to taking short, choppy strides. Michael shook his head.

Bertha, who was walking slightly ahead of them now, made a sudden stop. “Whoa. We’re here.” She lowered the map, and Michael did a double-take.

Right in front of them, surrounded by a large parking lot, stood an exact replica of the Oreburgh Trainer’s Hotel. The semblance was striking—same ten floors, same window shades, same paint. They had even gotten the sign right, only this time the letters spelled ‘THE HEARTHOME TRAINER HOTEL WELCOMES YOU!’ In addition, a second, a smaller structure was attached to the main building. It had a long pink roof and sliding glass doors — a Pokémon Center. They would at least be spared the trouble of walking.

What surprised him even more was that he was the only one staring.

Bertha turned around. “I take it you’ve seen this building before? What’s the matter?”

“It’s the same hotel as in Oreburgh!” Michael said.

“Obviously,” Bertha said. “That’s the beauty of the League. National uniformity.”

Michael shook his head. “This is getting weirder and weirder…”

Bertha chuckled. “Well, come on. Let’s get to it.”

They went inside. The lobby was identical to the Oreburgh Hotel in size and structure, and the only real difference was that the old set of staff had been replaced by new ones. A few trainers were scattered around the lobby, but there was currently no line at the counter. Bertha approached the clerk.

“Hello,” said Bertha to the lady. “Two rooms, please.” She slid forward her Gym leader I.D.

The clerk studied it for a moment, then looked up. “Thank you, Miss Bertha! That’ll be thirty dollars for the three of you. As a reminder, on the fifth floor we have a complimentary practice room, and according to hotel policy you must keep your pokémon with you at all times. There’s also a pokémon park not far from here that’s free to use, exclusive to Hearthome City.”

Bertha thanked her, and handed over the money in return for the keys.

“Wait! You didn’t have to pay for us,” Henry said. “Michael and I could’ve pitched in.”

“Too late,” Bertha said, placing back her wallet. “Besides, what’s thirty dollars? Just don’t expect me to pay for your souvenirs.”

They went up to the elevator. By sheer luck, they had gotten two adjacent rooms on the fourth floor. These were also carbon copies of the Oreburgh hotel, and Michael found it oddly funny that he and Henry entered in much the same way as last time, picking the same beds.

Once Michael finished unpacking, he went almost robotically to the TV in the corner and pressed the power button. He expected a struggle, but to his relief, it flickered on almost instantly.

A pink auditorium filled the screen, blaring a chorus of applause. A crowd was seated around a glittering stage, clapping madly.

“—aaaaaand the winner of this week’s Poké-fashion Knockout Round is… STACIE FENDER!!” The audience began to cheer. The camera panned across the stage, where four contestants were lined up with their pokémon. One of them threw up her arms in victory, a Monferno at her side. She embraced the announcer, and then turned to the panel of judges, who were also applauding.

“Congratulations, Stacie!” said one of the judges. “You and Winnie gave a spectacular performance. This round has made you eligible to compete in the 1963 Contest season!”

Michael leaned away from the monitor, one eyebrow raised. “What the hell?”

Henry came over beside him. “What is this? I’ve never seen this channel before.”

Stacie Fender was handed the microphone, and began to blubber a tearful sequence of thank-yous. Once she finished, she was escorted down the stage by a troupe of dancers and dressed-up pokémon. A peppy song began to blast through the speakers, while the audience clapped and danced along.

Michael snorted. “Oops. This must be the sissy channel.” He was about to change it when Henry stopped him.

“Wait!” he said. “I think I know what those are. Those are the Pokémon Contests!’

“And why should I care?”

“Because it’s this competition they have once every three years in Hearthome City. I know it because my mom watches it, and I remembered just now — the next season is going to be this winter! That’s why they do all these pre-rounds. It’s to decide who will compete next.”

Michael looked back at the TV. “Well that sounds like one hell of a drag. What’s with all the pink and the girly frills everywhere?”

“I guess that’s just what the Contests are. You know. Fashion.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “If you think that that’s cool, then you seriously have some issues.” He leaned over to the TV set again. “Allow me to demonstrate the proper use of television.”

He scrolled through the channels, pressing the arrows until he found News 5. The frills disappeared, the music was silenced, and now he saw the familiar anchorman sitting behind his table, reading stacks of papers in his monotonous voice.

“And now for the latest updates on the Space Race.”

Michael grinned. “Finally.”

“…it has been confirmed that Team Rocket has discovered a new pokémon inhabiting outer space. The Charon VII, which was launched from the Mossdeep Space Center on March 28th, has brought back pictures that have now been released to the public. The pokémon has been given the name ‘Deoxys’ by the scientists, and is currently undergoing intensive testing. A Rocket spokesperson from the Space Center was available for comment…”

Michael sat up abruptly. “What? They’re just repeating the same news from last time! That’s totally cheap!”

He turned to Henry, who was lying on his stomach, absorbed in the news. Michael shook his shoulder. “Dude, shouldn’t you have watched this already? It was on the news practically last week.”

“No,” the boy retorted. “I think it’s interesting.”

Michael scowled. “Well I don’t. There used to be like three updates a week. Now it’s just the same thing over and over again.”

“Maybe there aren’t any new updates,” Henry said.

“Or maybe Team Galactic’s decided to slack off, more likely. They can’t take a hit, so now everyone’s watching Hoenn. What a waste of time.” Michael turned the TV off.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Henry pushed his arm away, trying to reach the power button. Michael pushed back. The boys wrangled for a moment, but just then, there came a knock on the door.

“It’s me!” came Bertha’s voice.

Michael stood up, letting Henry plop down on the carpet. As he opened the door for Bertha, the Space Race began to blare again through the room.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Henry,” Bertha said. “We’re about to get going in a minute.”

With a grumble, Henry turned the TV off again.

“What should we bring?” Michael asked.

“Just your I.D.s will be fine. We’re going to book your battles.”

The boys gathered their things. Before they left, Henry tossed in a few more bits of food for the Stunky, which was currently sleeping with its head tucked under its tail.

“There you go, buddy.” He patted the cage, and went to join them by the door.

“Come on,” said Bertha as she led them out. “I have a taxi waiting for us already.”



The taxi cabs of Hearthome City were unique in design from the other cars, which made them very distinctive when they were out on the road. Their design was smooth and rounded, and they were painted with a black-and-yellow checkered pattern. Jubilife had taxi cabs as well, though their designs were plain, and they usually consisted of previous-year models that blended in with the rest of the traffic. They also didn’t wait for you if you took too long to appear, which Michael had noticed on various occasions.

Michael and Henry assumed the back seat, while Bertha got in the front, handing the driver an address on a slip of paper. They drove through the city for several minutes, and Michael was able to admire its size and beauty.

At one point, they passed a large building that stood separate from the others. Michael would not have noticed it if it weren’t for the sudden, painful glare cast by its steel roof. It looked to be some sort of opera house, with a curved body and a roof that splayed open towards the sky like the petals of a flower. The building was surrounded by a circle of pillars, which—he couldn’t help but notice—were adorned with thick pink ribbons, the same vomit-inducing color that had been on the TV.

A few people were gathered on its lawn, hanging back, taking pictures. When the building passed out of view, Michael shuddered silently.

“That’s the Contest Hall,” said the driver, casting a brief glance aside. “A lot of newcomers like to see it, but it’s not much right now. Wait till the season starts. Then this part of town will get abso-lutely crazy.”

Bertha smiled. “I’m not a big fan of Contests. I’ve always found them too girly.”

Michael was immensely relieved she had said this.

“Whoa, wait.” Bertha held up her hand. “That’s it. Right there.”

The driver slowed. He turned, and they pulled into the parking lot of a large office complex. Michael looked through Henry’s window, and saw that the buildings were all identical—square, and made of mirrored glass.

“This is the Gym?” he said. “Are you sure?”

Bertha shook her head. “This is just the leader’s office. Let’s go.” They climbed out, and entered the complex. The buildings in were numbered from 1900 to 2700. They found a sign that stood near one of the doors, and Bertha picked out a location from the list of office suites.

“All right, it’s here. We need the third floor.”

Rather than taking the stairs, they took the elevator by silent consent. Bertha led them down the third-floor hallway and stopped in front of a glass door that read:


Hearthome City Gym Services
Jerry Bradford


Inside, they found a waiting room of sorts. Rows of blue chairs were spaced along the walls, surrounding a coffee table piled with outdated issues of Pokémon League Weekly magazines. The room was empty. There was a window on the opposite wall, much like in a hospital waiting room, though there was no one sitting behind it. The door to the office, however, hung slightly open, and Michael could hear the faint sound of typing coming from within.

“Hello?” said Bertha. “Anyone here?”

“Come in!” answered a voice.

Bertha pushed open the door, leading them into a sunny office room. The space was dominated by a large wooden desk, and around it stood various file cabinets that had been randomly opened, often halfway. The man sitting behind the desk was so overwhelmed with paperwork that he seemed to be buried in it. One hand rested on his forehead, brushing his hair from his eyes, while the other worked tirelessly over a document.

He did not look up at their arrival. He finished a final paragraph, signed his name and heaved a sigh, rubbing his eyes.

“Jerry.”

The man looked up at the sound of his name. “Bertha!” he said, immediately rising. “I didn’t expect you to arrive this quickly. You sounded so worried on the phone that I thought something had gone wrong.”

“Something did go wrong, believe it or not,” Bertha said.

They met in a brief hug, clasping hands. When they parted, the man took his seat behind the desk again, and Bertha grabbed the vacant chair in front of him.

When she saw that the boys were still standing by the door, Bertha beckoned. “Boys, I’d like you to meet Mr. Bradford. He’s the Hearthome Gym leader.”

The man smiled at them. “Call me Jerry. How do you do?”

“Hey,” Michael said. “I’m Michael Rowan.”

Henry waved. “I’m Henry McPherson.”

Jerry nodded, and leaned back in his chair. “So to what do I owe this little visit, Bertha? You weren’t too descriptive this morning. Tell me what happened.”

Bertha sucked in her breath. “There was an explosion at the factory. We barely got any notice of it. There was some sort of battery leak that caused some machine to fail and that caused something else to fail, and… well, now the whole town’s covered in toxic waste. There’s no chance of going back. Everyone’s been evacuated, and that includes me and my Gym.”

Jerry’s eyes widened. He tapped the pen against the table. “An explosion?”

Bertha nodded. “And right when I was about to get somewhere with the council, too. So now, my Gym is basically homeless.”

“Bertha, that’s terrible,” Jerry said. “Can I do anything to help? Do you need Gym space? We can double up for a while. I don’t think it will have any effect on the League’s operations.” He uncapped the pen again, but Bertha waved him down.

“No. Its fine. I—” she paused briefly. “I’ve decided to take temporary leave.”

Jerry balked. “Leave? In the middle of a season? Well, you might as well hand them your resignation letter! What on earth made you want to do this?”

“There’s something more important I have to attend to,” she continued “It’s for the League of course, but it involves a lot of traveling. And I can’t fulfill my duties as a Gym leader if I have to keep relocating.”

“And what would this project be?” Jerry said. “What could possibly be so important that it calls for canceling your operations this very minute?”

“I’d prefer it if you kept this only between us,” Bertha said. “Michael and Henry know already, but they’re trustworthy and they won’t tell anyone.”

“Of course.”

Bertha brought forward the briefcase and withdrew a document bound in a plastic folder. “I’m petitioning the government. You know what’s happening with the funding. In the past two years, they’ve cut twelve percent in favor of Team Galactic, and it’s killing us. Look at the facts: We have my Gym town, which should be a shame to every trainer who sets foot in it, Oreburgh, which Byron and the city have to pay for all by themselves, and Pastoria, which from the letter their leader sent me, I hear is going under as well. It’s not just a town-by-town thing anymore, Jerry. It’s the whole damn country. If we don’t put an end to this soon, then the whole League will go bankrupt, and then we’ll be taken over by those astro-heads.”

Jerry’s expression clouded as he read over the papers.

“We can’t keep taking this quietly,” Bertha pressed. “Eterna took it quietly, and… well, it ended up a ruin. I don’t want the League going down the same way. Like it or not, but someone has to do something about this. And if that someone’s going to be me, then so be it.” She crossed her arms. “Team Galactic has sucked the life out of one thing I loved. And I’m not about to let it do the same to the other.”

Jerry looked back up at her. “What’s your plan?”

“I want to collect the signatures of all the Gym leaders, all the League Coordinators, and any other League staff member I can get. I also need at least eight or nine hundred signatures from Sinnoh citizens, which is where the traveling comes in. But I can’t get in touch with everyone I need without your help. You’re the one with the connections.”

“That’s true,” Jerry said with a smile. “I don’t always like it, but it’s true.”

“So will you help?” said Bertha.

Jerry looked down at the desk. “This is a serious thing to do… I hope you realize it. I agree, something needs to be done, but I never thought about making an attempt…” He smiled. “As usual, you’re the one with the ideas, Bertha. All right. I’ll help.”

Bertha beamed. “Great.” She brought out the petition, and Jerry took a long look at it.

“This is the correct form… Very good. This is exactly what we need. But be sure to make copies. Make multiple, and don’t keep them all in one place. You never know what may happen.” Taking out his pen, Jerry signed his name in the third slot, beneath Bertha’s and Henry’s names. Then he closed the folder and handed both to Bertha, who locked them in her briefcase.

“Now what we need to do is get in touch with the rest of the Gyms,” Jerry said. “I think it would be best for us to get as many signatures of League personnel as we can before announcing our intentions to the public. I’ll give you the contact information of Solaceon’s Gym, Sunyshore, and Canalave. Anything else?”

“Snowpoint,” Bertha added. “I need Snowpoint as well.”

Jerry scribbled down the names on a sheet of note paper. “Solaceon, Sunyshore, Canalave, Snowpoint. I’ll get those to you by tomorrow. Do you have the backing of any other Gyms?”

“Nope. I’ve said something about this to Byron, and he agrees with me, but I haven’t flat-out told him about the petition yet. Either way, I’m pretty sure he’ll back it. Obviously, we have the support of the Eterna and Hearthome Gyms, so that just leaves those four.”

Jerry nodded, and placed the paper into a file on his desk. Then his eyes found the boys, who had slumped into the chairs by the door several minutes ago, and were watching the conversation detachedly.

“I haven’t forgotten about you two,” he said. “Looks like we have another pair of people on a Gym quest. I don’t think we should keep them waiting any longer, Bertha. You brought them here to book their battles?”

“That’s right,” Bertha said.

“I think it would be best if we did that now. Come on over, boys.”

Michael and Henry approached the table. Jerry opened a day planner and thumbed through the pages. “All right, let’s see what we have. My schedule’s completely booked for the next two days. I’ll be at my Gym from eight in the morning to nine in the evening. Can you imagine that? Eight to nine. That’s why you gotta love your job.” He chuckled. “I always take Sundays off, but I’ve got a couple slots open on Monday. How about then? I can squeeze the both of you in on one day.”

“Sounds good,” Michael said.

“Same!” Henry gave a thumbs-up.

“All righty.” Jerry uncapped his pen again and took out a fresh file folder, and two clean documents. “Michael Rowan and Henry McPherson. May I see your I.D.s, please?”

Michael froze. During his period of hesitation, Henry skipped forward with this Trainer Card, and opened his badge case for Jerry to see. He examined both, and gave a thumbs-up. “Great. And Michael?”

“Uh… one sec.” Michael heaved his backpack to the ground and began to dig through it. The pockets had accumulated their fair share of junk over the days, and as a result, his badges, money, and papers were all jumbled up together. He managed to produce the Forest Badge, and the Coal Badge after much searching, and stumbled over to Jerry’s desk.

“Here. My badges.”

Jerry inspected them under the light. “And your I.D.?”

Michael’s pause was shorter this time. His brain had been scrambling for a good excuse, and in that final moment, he clung to the first one that seemed plausible. “I lost it.”

Jerry’s eyebrows climbed. “You lost it? That’s not good. I can’t book a battle for you unless I can be certain that you’re a legal trainer.”

“But…” Michael began again, trying to keep his voice steady, “obviously if I have badges from before, then I’m a legal trainer, right? Byron okayed my card and everything before I battled him, but I lost it on the way to Eterna. We were kind of in a hurry, and I left some things behind at the hotel.” He scratched his head. “I know, it’s not one of my best moves, but it’s true. I’m not good with traveling.”

“He’s right,” Henry piped up. Michael actually turned in surprise, because he did not expect to be defended. The boy paused, then added, “He told me about it.”

“What?” Bertha turned around to face them. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before, Michael? Losing your Trainer Card isn’t like losing a library card, you know. Without it, you can’t participate in the League. Without it, you can be fined. You should have told me immediately when you booked your battle! Do you understand that since you obtained my badge without your Trainer Card then your battle can be voided?”

“Voided?” Michael drew back. “But you saw me battle!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bertha shook her head. “If someone were to press charges against you in court, then you would lose. I’m not saying that your battle is automatically voided right now, but it can be. And being a Gym leader, I’m required by law to turn in anybody that I suspect of committing fraud.”

“She’s right,” Jerry added. “Why just last week, I had to turn in two girls who tried to fake their badges. They came in with copies of Bertha’s badge, but when I asked them where her Gym was, neither of them could answer. Fraud is a serious offense in the League, and we take it seriously.”

Michael took a step back, trying to calm his pounding heart. Scarcely a moment ago, everything had been fine, but the tables were now turned on him in the worst possible way. The combined stares of Bertha and Jerry were too much for him. Even Henry was looking at him uncertainly, as if waiting to see what Michael would do next.

In response to his silence, Bertha leaned forward. “Tell me the truth, Michael. Did you honestly lose your Trainer Card?”

Michael steeled himself against her gaze. “Yes,” he said. “I did. I just haven’t had the chance to get a new one yet.”

Bertha studied him carefully. “Okay. I’ll hold you to your word. But get the card, all right?”

Michael nodded. “I will. I’ll… get it tomorrow.”

“That’ll be great,” Jerry said. “After you do, come here and show me. Remember, I have to see the card before the battle.”

“Right.”

Bertha rose from her seat. “All right, then I guess everything’s settled. Thanks for your time, Jerry. It means a lot.”

“Not at all,” Jerry said. “It was nice meeting you two, boys. And it was great to see you again, Bertha, though the circumstances aren’t the best right now.”

Bertha inclined her head. “Well, that’s what we’re about to change.” She and Jerry shook hands one last time, and Michael took the moment to draw a deep breath to steady his shakes.

“We’ll talk some more tomorrow morning,” Jerry said to Bertha. “So, see you then.”

“See you then.” Bertha smiled.

She led them out of the room, and Michael tried not to walk too quickly.



//////



When Michael and Henry got back to their hotel room, there was little to do, so by mutual consent they decided to go outside. They got directions to the local trainer park at the front desk, and set off with their belongings under the blazing afternoon sun. Henry decided to bring along the Stunky to give it some fresh air. They walked along amiably, not talking.

Amity Square was wide open field bordered by a high wrought-iron fence. A stone path ran along its perimeter, breaking off into little roads that went into the lawn. It had lots of hills and benches, where people sat and talked, and a large fountain as the centerpiece. As Michael looked around, he saw that an unusual number of people had brought their pokémon as well.

The entrance to the park was guarded by a security officer, who was leaning against the fence. Seeing the boys, he lifted his cap. “Whoa there!” The guard held out his hand to block them.

“Is there a problem?” Michael said.

“First off, welcome to Amity Square,” the guard said. “Second, this is a pokémon park, fellas. Caging our buddies is not permitted.”

Michael looked down at the Stunky. “We can’t let it out. We don’t have a leash and it’ll run away.”

The guard shrugged. “Sorry, but rules are rules. You can’t go in unless you have a pokémon with you.”

Henry tapped his chin. “Wait!” He reached into his tote bag, rummaged a bit, and pulled out his pokéballs. “How about this?” He opened each capsule one by one, and his entire team—Burmy, Starly, Clefairy, and Pachirisu—landed at his feet, pushing and chattering.

Following his example, Michael took out his own, releasing Turtwig, Caterpie, and Machop. He left Goldeen in his backpack, for obvious reasons. The horde of pokémon converged, some chattering and others shaking themselves awake.

Looking pleased, the guard stepped aside and let them through. Michael felt slightly foolish with a whole party of pokémon walking by his feet, and kept having to look down to make sure he didn’t step on Caterpie.

They made their way down the path slowly, for they had to accommodate everyone and make sure the group stayed together. Michael and Henry flanked the group of pokémon on either side, making sure there were no stragglers. Michael had to keep an eye on Machop, which kept stopping either to pick at something shiny on the ground or to smell the dandelions.

After their fifth pause, Michael had reached the end of his string. He grabbed the Machop by the hand and began to tug it along behind him, grumbling. The pokémon was no taller than his elbow, which made him feel like he was walking with a toddler.

The sight must have been funny, for as soon as he saw this, Henry burst into a fit of giggles. Michael gritted his teeth. “If you tell anyone about this, I will throw you into a fountain.” Henry quieted down at once, though Michael still caught the wayward snicker here and there.

They followed the path for a while, dodging the other park-goers, who kept trying to stop them and introduce their pokémon. They reached the fountain, where benches were spaced around the long stone ledge. The water shimmered as it cascaded down from several stone basins, which were stacked on top of one another to create a soothing waterfall.

Michael guided the group towards the benches and sat down. Henry plopped down beside him. For a while, they watched the other park-goers wander about, playing with their companions. While the boys sat, their pokémon sprawled out on the ground before them, finding their own occupations.

“This is a really pretty park,” Henry said.

Michael twiddled his thumbs. “I guess.”

For a while, he watched as Henry’s Burmy tugged at the leaf on Turtwig’s head. Then he looked at Henry again. “Why did you defend me?”

“What?”

“You know. For the Trainer Card thing. You know I don’t have one.”

This seemed to set the boy thinking. “I don’t know. I guess it’s because you’ve been a good friend to me and you’ve done a lot, so I felt that I had to repay you.”

“For a second, I half-expected you to rat on me.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” said Henry immediately. “I’m not that kind of person. At least, I don’t want to be anymore…”

“Elaborate?” Michael said.

Henry fumbled. “I don’t know. It’s just that this competition’s been really weird for me so far. When I first came to Oreburgh, a lot of people were mean to me. Then I met Sebastian and his friends, and they were real friendly, which I liked, and we promised to help each other out for the battles. But after I lost, I kind of ditched them…” Henry adjusted his position, sitting on his hands. “I wanted to go home, but then I met Chester and Veronica, and they sort of let me hang around and practice with them. But all they really wanted from me was to know how to beat Byron. And you know, I wouldn’t tell them. So they just kind of kicked me around.”

Michael processed this, and nodded. “The League means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

Henry looked up at the sky and smiled. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

The boy shrugged. “I’ve been into it for a while. Ever since I was five all I wanted to be was a trainer. You know, like Ricky Sheldon. All the money and the fame. My dream was to beat the Elite Four, and now I finally have a chance to do it. My mom will be proud of me, and so will all my friends.”

“But you’re not doing it for your mom or your friends.”

“No, I’m doing it for myself.” Henry fidgeted again, kicking at the dirt on the ground.

For the first time, Michael understood. The League was a calling, a universal sign of achievement. For Henry, the underdog, it probably meant the world. And for him…

I’m just a kid running from his past, Michael thought grimly. He had stumbled upon the League entirely by accident, and in retrospect, he wasn’t even sure he had been willing to commit to it in the beginning. His real goal had been to put as much distance between himself and his house as possible. But now there was no going back. He had gotten himself into a mess, and the only way out was to think it through.

“We need a plan,” said Michael aloud, rubbing his hands together.

Henry turned. “Huh?”

“We need a plan,” Michael repeated. “If we want to win this, then we’ve got to get our act together. I barely pulled through at that last battle, and if it hadn’t been for that Starly, Bertha would have sent me packing. You have a lot of work ahead of you too. We both do.”

“I agree,” Henry said. “We should train more.”

“Not just that. We need to train wisely.” Michael pulled out his chart and a pencil. “From now on, we’re going to gather as much information about pokémon as we can. We’re going to find all the types and match them with their strengths and weaknesses. We’ll do what no other trainer has done before.”

Henry began to rock on his hands. “Are you sure it’ll work?”

“It has to. Think about it: All we need to beat each Gym is to know what pokémon the leader is using, and what their effective counters are. From there, all we have to do is catch the types we don’t have, and train them.”

“But getting information like that is against the rules! I know you know, but…” Henry dropped his voice. “I just don’t want to get into trouble.”

“We won’t. We just have to watch our step, is all. We’ll get my I.D. tomorrow, if we can find a place that gives them out first, and I’ll spin the same yarn as last time. Then, all my badges will be legal and we can keep going. No one will know a thing. As for this,” he patted the chart, “no one will be able to guess. We’ll just move from town to town as quickly as possible to minimize the chance that we’ll be recognized.”

“But what about Bertha?” Henry said. “She’s not exactly stupid. Won’t she catch on? And won’t she think it’s odd that we have the perfect counters for each and every Gym we battle?”

Michael shrugged. “Not unless she’s in the battle room with us, which I doubt, because she’ll be too busy with her petition to watch us. And again, if she ever suspects anything, we can just say that we want to broaden our knowledge of the pokémon species or whatever to become better trainers. We just have to be convincing.”

Henry bobbed his head in a nod, taking it all in. “Okay. Sounds like a plan. But where are we gonna start?”

Michael was getting ready to answer, when something tugged at the hem of his jeans. He looked down, and saw that the Caterpie had latched onto his foot with its teeth. With a shout, he sprang to his feet, kicking and flailing in an attempt to shake it off.

“Get off! Get off, you little—” Michael reached down and pried the Caterpie off with his hands. He tossed it aside without really caring where, for his attention was now on the torn denim on his right pant leg.

A second later, he heard a scream. Michael looked up.

By accident, he had thrown the Caterpie directly onto Machop’s head, which had been a big mistake. The pokémon scrambled to its feet, frantically groping at the fins on its head in search of the invader, while the others frantically dodged its footfalls. Finally, the Machop caught the Caterpie in its fist, and slowly brought it down to examine.

A second later, Machop let out a scream.

The Caterpie had sunk its teeth into its thumb, leaving behind an oozing cut. Machop flicked it off with a powerful swipe. Then, as if by instinct, it hurled itself at Michael’s waist and began to bawl into his shirt. Michael held up his hands, cringing.

“Aw, come on!” He tried to wriggle free, but the Machop’s grip was iron. “Why do you have to be such a frigging baby? Let me see.” He examined the Machop’s injured hand. The cut was still bleeding.

“Do you have a bandage?” Michael asked Henry. The boy took one out from his tote bag, and Michael wrapped it around Machop’s thumb. “There. Good as new. Now go.”

He gave the Machop a push, and the pokémon he looked at its hand, still blinking back tears. It slowly turned away, head drooping, as it went to investigate the new specimen. It plopped butt-first into the grass.

“Aw, that’s cute.” Henry smiled. “Look, he’s showing his friends!” He pointed as the other pokémon crowded around, eyeing Machop’s bandaged hand as if it were a natural wonder. Even the Stunky was sniffing at the bars, its eyes studying.

“Eh.” Michael gave a one-shoulder shrug. He sat back down, thankful that the park was sparsely-populated and that no one had seen the incident.

“I always thought it was neat how pokémon have their own personalities,” Henry said.

“I never noticed.”

“Well, you should spend time with them. We could come here more often.”

“Sure.”

“Hey, you know what I think?” Henry said.

“What?”

“We should let out Stunky.”

“Did we not have this conversation before?” Michael said. “It’ll run away, I told you.”

But Henry shook his head. “I don’t think it will. I think it just wants to have fun.”

Michael leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Suit yourself. But if it takes off, you’re going after it.”

He watched as Henry kneeled down and unlatched the cage’s lock. The Stunky drew back a little, its tail twitching, though the fear that had filled its eyes before was gone now. It looked sane.

Slowly, Henry opened the door, and the Stunky stepped out onto bare ground. Michael gripped the bar of the bench, ready to spring into action if need be, but to his surprise, the Stunky didn’t run. It settled down among the other pokémon, who seemed to rejoice at its presence. They formed a sort of circle around it, exchanging sounds and gestures.

Michael watched it for a while, in wonder. The Stunky turned around, marveling at its new companions and the touch of something other than cold metal beneath its paws. Then its eyes locked on Michael’s, and for a moment, Michael had the feeling that it remembered all that had happened between them and knew exactly where they were now. It made him uncomfortable, and it gave him the feeling that he was being screened, which he did not like. But at the same time, it made him curious.

So Michael simply rested his elbows on his knees and watched, wondering how big of a blockhead Cory and Brendan would think he was for observing pokémon.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ September 16th, 2011 1:13 PM

Ah, so she did make the train... and it looks like a third party member has been added to our group. Michael's gonna have to be a lot more careful with that chart of his from now on, though, with Bertha's watchful eyes...

1750, huh? Bet the League's seen a lot of changes since then, that's for sure... dating back before electronic healing machines and perhaps even Pokeballs. it would certainly be an interesting history to read about (this coming from the guy whose own region's Pokemon League wasn't founded till 1975).

Quote:

the federal government has been setting aside nearly half of its budget for Team Galactic. And as a result, less money gets to the League.
Just like our government, pumping finds into projects that are really unnecessary.

Quote:

“That’s the beauty of the League. National uniformity.”
Ditto with the Sleep Inn hotel chain:P And Microtel.

Quote:

It’s this competition they have once every three years in Hearthome City.
Wow, they must've become more popular... nowadays they're yearly (or whenever you talk to the receptionist at the contest hall). And no, Michael is not suited at ALL for Contests. Of course, bear in mind what happens to this Contest organization about 37 years later... it gets turned into a fraud scheme and it's up to a rich math genius named Lisa and her contest-loving partner Sadie to set things right :P

Ah, so this Jerry happens to be the first "new" Gym leader who isn't still in business today... I wonder if he'll reveal beforehand what type of Pokemon he uses or whather the boys are gonna have to play this one by ear.

Veilstone was left out during Bertha and Jerry's rundown of participating Gyms.

Did one of those ones that they busted for fraud happen to be this lady? She would've been around 14 or 15 at the time and she eventually made a lifetime of committing fraud, so why not start with the Pokemon League. In any event, I smell a couple of mini-Bernie Madoffs in the making :P

Hard to say whether this scheme of Michael's to obtain an ID is going to work. It all depends on how often each branch updates their roster of registered Pokemon trainers... if they haven't updated since before Michael beat Byron, he should be able to pull it off, but if the records are more recent, then... But I'd imagine they'd most likely have paper lists of trainers - computers at that time were still huge machines that would require a separate room and tons of power to operate, and I'm not sure (but kinda doubting) that they had any way of networking computers back then.

Nice chapter, the way I prefer... not a lot of action, but new characters are introduced and new plot points are brought up... namely Bertha's petition and Michael's need to get an ID card. I look forward to seeing how both situations will play out. But please don't have Bertha get 799 signatures then have Michael have a change of heart and provide #800 - that would be way too cliche xD

Well, thus ends my review with a shameless plug to my own work and with a surprising number of fraud references. Now include a Buick LeSabre in here... they started making them in 1958 so there should be a few cruising around :)

Haruka of Hoenn September 16th, 2011 1:35 PM

Yeah, things will be more interesting with Bertha aboard the team. She's going to be playing a large role, and she's going to enjoy it. That just about sums it up.

As for the Contests, I decided to pay them a little tribute, since this fic is mainly centered around the League. Plus, Michael + Contests = hilarity.

Quote:

Of course, bear in mind what happens to this Contest organization about 37 years later... it gets turned into a fraud scheme and it's up to a rich math genius named Lisa and her contest-loving partner Sadie to set things right :P
But of course. :P

Quote:

Veilstone was left out during Bertha and Jerry's rundown of participating Gyms.
Veilstone isn't a Gym town in this story. I did this for a reason (and it's a good one), so to fill its 'place', I made Solaceon a Gym town instead.

Quote:

But please don't have Bertha get 799 signatures then have Michael have a change of heart and provide #800 - that would be way too cliche xD
OHNOESTHAT'SEXACTLYWHATIWASGOINGTO-

Kidding. xD
Don't worry, I have a much, much, much better plan than that. (Though that would be funny for an April Fools chapter. Haha.)

Quote:

Well, thus ends my review with a shameless plug to my own work and with a surprising number of fraud references. Now include a Buick LeSabre in here... they started making them in 1958 so there should be a few cruising around :)
Wish granted! There will be a car in the next chapter, and though I was originally going to make it just 'car', I guess I can make it a LeSabre. Haha. :P

Thanks for the review! Hopefully, the next chapter will shed some more light about what's going on...

Haruka of Hoenn September 29th, 2011 5:39 PM

1.7

The wail of a siren sounded high over the hubbub of morning traffic, and for a moment, the usual proceedings of the Hearthome morning were disturbed by a red ambulance shooting down the road, its spinning tires a blur.

The vehicle flew past three intersections and hit a bump on the curb, skating through a puddle and splashing water and mud all over the sidewalk. The spray missed a woman’s shoes by inches, but before she could turn around to assess the damage, the sirens died down.


Nancy Bryan squinted as she watched the vehicle speed off into the horizon. She looked back down at her heels, which were only slightly soiled with mud. “Great. And I just got these too.” She sidestepped the puddle, and looked back, facing the team members who had lagged behind. “Are you coming or what?”

Ned, Tom, and Bobby rushed to catch up with her. Even though the burden of their equipment had been relieved of them, it turned out that traveling was no faster.

As Bobby came up to the curb, he adjusted his baseball cap and rubbed his neck. “Whoo. Sure feels good to be back in the city, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” Nancy said. “This place reminds me too much of Jubilife.”

“I hear ya.”

They waited for the traffic lights to go red, and then the four of them crossed the street. Nancy had a map with her, but after nearly a lifetime in the city, navigation was almost second-nature to her. All she really needed to know was the destination’s relative location, and the rest she’d be able to deduce from the surroundings.

In a few minutes, the tip of the Hearthome Contest Hall appeared on the skyline. As they approached the building was revealed in full glory, like a rose rising out among barren leaves. The building was enormous, shoving aside the lean towers around it to make room for itself.

The team stopped in front of it for a moment, taking in the sight. Everything about the building indicated vacancy, from the clean parking lot to the neatly-trimmed grass, which looked as if it hadn’t been stepped on in months.

“So, why are we coming here of all places?” said Ned. “Hoenn’s contests are like preschool birthday parties. Why should Sinnoh be any different?”

“It doesn’t matter how bad they are,” Nancy replied. “We just need something that has the potential to grab interest. And lots of people follow Contests. When I was little, the papers were filled with stories about them. It’s normal, it’s conventional, and most importantly, it’s marketable.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “So how did you just randomly jump from far-out controversial to normal and marketable?”

Nancy sighed. “I just think we should give this a try. Galactic didn’t exactly work out for us, so maybe there’s a grain of truth in the old saying ‘boring is interesting’.”

Bobby scoffed, and Nancy rolled her eyes. “Will you please? Come on, we’re going. I made an appointment, so we might as well.”

She led them to the doors, which against all odds, were open. The lobby was painted a salmon pink, color-coordinated in every imaginable aspect. There were rows of chairs lined against the wall in mind of a multitude of occupants, but today, there were none. The lobby was utterly empty—there wasn’t even a clerk at the front desk.

“Hello?” Bobby tried. “Anyone home?”

“This doesn’t make sense. I made an appointment…” Nancy began to pace around. She tried several doors, but all were locked.

As a last resort, she lifted herself over the counter and tried the door that was behind the desk. It was locked as well, but when she pressed her ear against it, she heard faint sounds coming from the back.

“Hey!” she called, pounding on the door. “My name is Nancy Bryan! I’m here by appointment!”

It was a few minutes before the answer came. There was a rush of hurried footsteps, and someone yelling, “Coming!”

Nancy backed away, and the door swung open.

“Heeey!” came a breezy voice. In a rush of fabric, a dressed-up woman stepped out to greet them, bearing a dazzling smile. Her face and arms were doused with glitter, and the skirts of her dress were nearly too thick to fit in the doorway. With all the bewildering colors, looking at her was like trying to look directly at the sun.

The woman grasped Nancy’s hand in a firm handshake.

“Welcome! You must be with Sinnoh Now. My name is Leah. We’re just about to get started with our dress rehearsal. Everyone’s already in the back, so if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the stage.” Leah swept her gaze across them. “Did you bring cameras, equipment, anything like that?”

“I brought a notebook,” Nancy said.

Leah winked. “Perfect. Follow me.”

It was about as warm a welcome as Nancy could have wished for. Leah led them down a long hallway into an auditorium. The lights were off, though Nancy could still make out the details. The design of the Sinnoh Contest houses were similar to those of Hoenn’s—walls decorated with ribbons and streamers, gleaming banisters, and balloons lining the ceiling like some sort of mesh material. As a whole, the room looked like it could seat one thousand people.

At the head of the room, the stage glittered like a gem against a frame of red curtains. The spotlights were focused on a young woman at the moment, who was performing a silent tap routine with her pokémon, a Kricketune. She tapped and twisted, the huge skirt of her yellow dress swishing rhythmically, but she stopped midway as the baton her pokémon was holding slipped from its hands and clattered to the floor.

“No no no!” she said, dropping her arms. “Casey, you promised you’d get it right this time! Ugh!” The Kricketune hummed angrily in response.

The pokémon picked up the baton again, and the pair started over. A few seconds in, Leah cleared her throat loudly, and the woman stopped to look at them. Immediately, her face broke into a smile.

“Hi! Oh my gosh, you must be the news crew!” She hopped down from the stage. Up close, Nancy could see the thick mask of makeup that covered her face. Her black hair was so saturated with spray that it seemed to gleam in the darkness.

“Miss Bryan wants to do coverage of our rehearsal,” Leah explained. “Think about it, that’ll definitely shoot us to the top this year!”

The black-haired woman squealed. “Totally!” She turned to the team. “My name’s Loretta, by the way. And didn’t you say you guys were from Hoenn?”

Nancy nodded. “I did.”

Loretta clapped her hands over her mouth. “That is far-out. How are the Contests there? Are they any different?”

Bobby placidly surveyed his surroundings. “Nah, they’re pretty much the same.”

Leah and Loretta seemed to think that this was the coolest thing in the world. They leaned close and began to whisper excitedly, and right then, Nancy began to feel slightly foolish for coming here.

Just then, a door slammed somewhere behind the wings, and a troupe of dressed-up girls descended the stage steps. Nancy saw lots of spun hair and poofy dresses, but also noted that there wasn’t a single guy among them. (Even in Hoenn, where Contests were largely a female endeavor, there were always three or four male coordinators who survived to the finals.)

The girls waved and clumped together into a semicircle before the team. Leah pointed and introduced them in turn.

“All right, meet our little groupie! We have Anne, Tammie, Alice, Becky, and Marilyn. We’re all best friends, and we’re all going to audition for this year’s Pokémon Contests.”

“That’s why we’re spending every minute we can in here,” said Loretta. “It’s so we’ll be at the top of our game when we enter the Knockout Rounds!”

“So we were hoping,” continued Anne, “that you would spread the word. You know, like when your story gets published, a lot of people would read about us and look for when we appear on TV.”

Nancy pursed her lips, looking at the girls with a newfound pity. Here they were, just another group of amateurs trying to make it in a competitive world.

They don’t stand a chance, she thought to herself. But then again, she wasn’t so different.

“All right,” Nancy said finally. “We’ll watch.”

The girls were elated. The troupe disappeared into the wings, and a few seconds later, the curtains slid closed. Nancy took a seat in the second row, her team members around her. She took out her notebook and scribbled the date and the location in the dark.

Bobby kicked up his feet. “Wake me up when it’s over,” he yawned.

Nancy elbowed him. “Stop it! For one thing, it’s completely rude, and for another, we need a story. Don’t screw this up.”

A minute later, the curtains flew open to reveal the dazzling light. Loretta stood in the center, surrounded by Anne, Alice, and Tammie, who were posing like ballerinas with their skirts spread gracefully along the floor.

The music began, and the girls broke apart, revealing Casey the Kricketune at Loretta’s feet. The two began their tap routine on center stage, while the other girls swayed and leaped around them. The Kricketune passed the baton swiftly between its two tiny hands, stepping in synchrony with Loretta.

When the number ended, the dancers assumed the poses they started off with, then briskly fled from the stage, making way for Leah, Becky, and Marilyn. Their song was more upbeat, and along with their pokémon, they began to dance in rhythm. Leah had a Buizel, and was spinning with it in circles, while Becky and Marilyn were partnering with a Pachirisu and a Happiny.

Overall, Nancy thought it was a mediocre performance. She took notes, though she did not bother to ask her teammates for their opinions. Bobby had fulfilled his promise of falling asleep, and though Tom seemed to be doing his best to pay attention, he often turned to exchange a murmur with Ned.

After about half an hour, the curtains closed, and Leah’s voice announced the performance’s closure. There came a round of applause from the stage, and the curtains opened again, revealing the cast as they took their bows. Nancy took the time to stretch, closing her pen.

When the girls met them in the seating area again, they were all smiles and cheers. Leah bounded up to them, grinning.

“Well, how was it? I think that my pirouette could use some more work, but that’s just me.” She giggled. “So did you get everything you need?”

Nancy nodded, patting her notebook. “It’s all right here. It might take a while, but if your story gets published, I’ll let you know.”

“Great!” said Leah. “Well, I hope you had fun!”

“Yeah, hope you had fun!” said Loretta.

The girls waved. Nancy shook their hands, and after a few more parting words, the team of Sinnoh Now exited the auditorium.



When Nancy got outside, she was greeted by a faceful of blazing sun. Traffic was now in full swing, and so was the noise. Unable to contain her swelling excitement, Nancy scurried over to a nearby bench and opened her notebook, scanning her notes.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” she muttered.

What she saw came like a cold slap in the face. What had seemed like a boatload of information was now as bland and wispy as cotton, entirely baseless. Her words were dull and scattered, barely amounting to three pages in total.

Strangely, Nancy clearly remembered writing vivid description, even giving her wrist a break from a writing cramp, but now it was as if a giant monster had sucked out the filling of what she had wanted to say, leaving only a vague sketch of her previous thought patterns.

Her shoulders drooped. As the rest of her team crowded around her, Nancy leaned back, running her fingers through her hair.

“Well that was a boring show.” Bobby yawned. “So what did you get, O Supreme Writer?”

Nancy shook her head, her voice flat. “Kill me. I can’t write about this.” She slammed the notebook shut.

Bobby laughed. “Dude. No one can write about this. Stop beating yourself up.”

“Yeah, honestly I can’t see something like that turning into a good story that SNN will care for. Or anyone, for that matter,” said Ned.

“Hmph.” Nancy leaned back, staring up at the sky. Her head was utterly devoid of ideas, just a blank sheet of blue with occasional bursts of thoughts, as empty and weightless as the clouds themselves.

She swallowed. Oh God, I think I’ve got writer’s block.

The notion was so silly and fitting that it made her laugh in spite of herself. It had been a long time since she had felt that annoying hindrance, since her mind had been heavily trained to work efficiently towards a product. But now it seemed that the exhaustion was finally catching up to her.

When SNN had announced the terms of their probation, they hadn’t specified exactly what kind of story they would accept. From past experience with the station, Nancy knew that they liked big, scandalous stories, and were pretty damn good at getting them too. She wanted to be like them and yet be different, less of a muckraker and more of a teller, a bringer of events, fearless in the face of a changing world.

She wanted to be a reporter.

When Nancy saw that her team was staring, waiting for her words, she broke the long silence and stood. “Okay, well let’s get going. We’ve got a whole town to look over, and I’m sick of standing in this heat.”

The men nodded their agreement. So Nancy walked with them, tucking her notebook under her arm and did what she did best— move right along.



//////



Several miles away from the Hearthome Trainer’s Hotel, the city skyline rose, and the roads became wider, accommodating a thickening crowd of cars and people. In a small
section of the upper city, the grandeur of the downtown was utterly lost, stripped away from the signs and lights to reveal bare urbanity. The gutters beneath the sidewalks were stuffed with washed-out debris, and the buildings seemed to slump over the streets, their bricks brown and cracked.

Michael had made the decision to devote the entire day towards attaining his Trainer Card, and at any cost. He had done his fair share of procrastinating on school assignments in the past, but this was something he wanted to get off his chest as early as possible, so that he could start training for his battle without having to worry if it would actually happen or not.

That morning, Michael had approached the lady behind the concierge desk, who gave him directions to a local trainer store where replacement cards were given out. He and Henry had set out in pursuit of their destination, armed with a map and a small supply of candy Michael had purchased the previous evening.

They spent a good hour wandering through the town, in what seemed to be an endless drag of turns and crossings. Often, when Michael saw a building that stood out, he was stricken by a brief disorientation as his mind took him back to Jubilife City and rejected the unfamiliar surroundings. This did not help him in the slightest, and as the streets around them began to get dingier and narrower, Michael solidified his belief that they were utterly lost.

Henry remained surprisingly patient throughout their walk, but in these new surroundings, he seemed to be losing it. When they passed a dirty sewer, he shook with disgust, and whenever they passed a bar, Henry quickened his pace, forcing Michael to run up ahead of him again.

As they passed by a shop window, a shady-looking man peered out at them from the inside, leering. At that point, Michael felt a tug on his sleeve.

“I don’t like it here,” Henry whispered.

“Neither do I, but it’s no use complaining. Just keep walking.”

“Maybe we made a wrong turn,” the boy said. “Seriously, I think we did.”

“That’s impossible,” Michael replied. “We’ve followed the directions perfectly.”

“But doesn’t this seem like a weird place to have a trainer store?” Henry countered. “This place is just… bad.”

Michael took a look around. Henry was not entire wrong — the streets had a tired, run-down appearance that was miles apart from the pulsing city center they had left an hour ago. Even in broad daylight, the alleys seemed darker, the people rougher and colder. Every other building they passed was either a bar or casino. But if this was what he had to do in order to get his Trainer Card, then he’d do it.

“Relax,” Michael said with a smile. “If anything, we can just send out our pokémon and beat the crap out of whoever tries to bother us. Right?”

Henry puffed out his cheeks. “I guess.”

They reached another intersection and went right. Henry kept as close behind Michael as possible, flinching away from the passerby.

The smell of food and music wafted around Michael with every open door he passed, and he found it hard to keep going when there were so many things tugging at his attention. Hearthome’s streets were narrower than Jubilife’s, making everything seem close and compacted. He strained to read the store signs, but the pokéball logo refused to reveal itself from among the masses.

When Michael realized that Henry was lagging behind again, he stopped. “Will you at least help me? We could’ve passed it ten times already and I wouldn’t know it because I’m the only one looking.”

“I’m sorry!” Henry snapped. “It’s just that my feet hurt. Can we at least sit down for a while?”

Michael groaned. “Fine.”

They found a vacant bench nearby and sat down. Henry began to retie his shoes and adjust his socks, while Michael leaned back, watching the people go by.

All of a sudden, his eyes locked on something familiar — the pokéball. He sat up, just in time to see a boy run past, his shirt flapping in the breeze. It was a pokéball shirt, to which he had a matching cap and backpack. A group of three other boys rushed to keep up behind him, pushing and shouting.

“Hurry, come on!”

“It’s this way!”

Michael stood up, following the logos on their backpacks with his eyes. “Trainers!”

The group of boys ran to the end of the lane and disappeared behind the corner.
Henry sprang up. “Maybe they’re going to the store too?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Michael said. “Let’s go.”

They ran after the group just as they crossed another street. In the distance, Michael saw the boys stop beside a building, and after crowding around its sign to make sure it was the right one, they hurried inside.

Michael ran as fast as he could, stumbling to a stop in front of the door. To surprise, it wasn’t a trainer store. Instead, the row of flashing lights above the door spelled out: “POKéMON GAME CORNER”.

“A game corner?” Michael perked an eyebrow. “Hey, cool! I think Jubilife had one of these!” He made a step towards the door. When he realized that Henry wasn’t following him, he turned. “Well, come on. What’s the matter?”

Henry shook his head. “I don’t think we should go in.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like we’ll be gambling or anything. We just have to find those guys and ask them where the store is. They’re bound to know something, for Pete’s sake. Their entire outfits are League merchandise.”

“I still don’t want to,” Henry said.

Michael’s shoulders sagged. “What, would you rather ask that guy who looked at us earlier? I don’t mind. Maybe he’s still there, come on.” Michael feigned a jog in the opposite direction. His pestering worked its magic — Henry bit his lip and pulled him back immediately.

“Okay, okay! We’ll go in. But remember what Bertha said. I don’t want to be scammed.”

Michael snorted. “Relax.”

They went inside. Entering the Game Corner was like stepping into instant nighttime — the lights in the room were dimmed, but there were so many flashes from the slot machines and arcade games that lamps were unnecessary. Strings of red Christmas lights were lined against the ceiling, blinking.

Michael waded through the crowd, barely aware of his own breathing above the noise. He tried to follow the boys’ path as best as he could, though walking was hard with Henry’s hands gripping his backpack, steering him. If Michael had yelled at him to get off, Henry wouldn’t have heard him.

As he maneuvered his way through the arcade, Michael noticed to his surprise that the crowd populating it consisted entirely of children — trainers, from ages nine to twelve. They stood by the slot machines and the card tables, gambling tiny gold coins, at games tailored to their age. Michael saw signs like Pokéball Bonanza, Champion’s Chance, and Poké-basketball.

Henry leaned over to yell something in his ear, but the boy’s voice was lost in the noise.

Michael turned. “What?”

“I said this is a Trainer’s Gambling Corner!” Henry shouted. “There was one in Floaroma but it got closed down!”

Michael waded through an aisle of Pokéball Bonanza slot machines, narrowing his eyes against the dizzying screen flashes. The light was strangely distorting — against the black carpet, even the white of his shirt seemed to glow. Michael looked around for any sign of the trainer boys, but against this camouflage, finding them seemed next to impossible.

He felt another tug on his sleeve. Henry pointed to a table off to the side, surrounded by a small crowd of trainers. The boys with the red caps were among them. At the head stood a man with a microphone, calling over the general noise. He wore a black vest over a red polo shirt, most likely the employee’s uniform. He was one of the few adults present in the room.

“Step right up, trainers!” he said. “Today’s your chance to win big with the new Poké-Roulette! Three spins, three speeds, one grand prize! Hey there, what’s your name?”

He handed the microphone over to one of the red-cap boys, who grinned. “Chad!”

“Chad! Wa-hey! How would you like to win fifty dollars, right here and now?”

The other trainers began to whisper in jealousy. Chad nodded eagerly. “I’d love it!”

The man stepped over to Chad. “Great! You’ll be my demonstrator today. What you’re going to do is select a speed by pressing one of these buttons.” He pointed to a row of buttons on the machine numbered from one to three. “Then you’re going to put the money into the center… right there, that’s it.”

Michael watched as Chad placed three dollar bills into a small metal pit at the center of the wheel.

Three dollars? That’s cheap! Michael moved closer to examine the wheel in detail. As a whole, it looked like an ordinary roulette wheel. The colored slices varied in amount rather than thickness. There were three of each color, and black, the jackpot, had five. On the whole, it seemed like an unusually fair game.

Chad chose a speed and placed a white ball on the edge of the wheel. Instantly, it began to spin on its own, the slices blending into a bewildering whirlpool of color. Michael looked to the metal pit in the center, and saw that a glass dome had been placed over the money while Chad wasn’t looking.

The wheel continued to spin for about a minute, and then it slowed. Chad watched with a grin as the ball seemed to travel across the wheel’s circumference. As the wheel slowed, the pointer began to tick.

“All right, all right, here’s where it ends!” said the man. “Get it on black, and win fifty dollars! But don’t get it on green, or it’s game over!”

Chad leaned over the wheel eagerly. A dozen pairs of eyes watched the tiny white ball as it skipped past black, then blue, then yellow, then red. Finally, it slowed. The white ball began to tip over to the black slot, but then something strange happened. The wheel paused and gave a tiny jerk in the opposite direction, rolling the ball over to green. The break was tiny, almost too easy to miss. The wheel master’s smile slowly broadened.

Chad looked up at the glass dome, just in time to see the metal bottom collapse, and his money fall into a hole. A loud buzzer sounded, and the crowd groaned.

The man stepped back, grimacing in feigned pity. “Oooh, better luck next time! Sorry, kid!” But the man did not look too sorry about it. As Chad left , the other kids pushed past one another to get their turn.

The wheel’s second customer, a girl of about ten, ended up at the front of the line and placed her bet into the pit—six dollars for two white balls. She chose the slowest speed, and the wheel began to turn. The pointer clicked past the marks, and the balls rolled from one color to the next. The balls settled into one green slot, and one yellow slot without a problem. The buzzer sounded again.

“You get a free spin, young lady!” the wheel master said. “One ball only.” He removed the ball that had landed on yellow, and the girl spun again.

The wheel continued to turn smoothly, and Michael began to wonder if it had been just a trick of the eye. But no—the ball again came close to landing on black, only to be jerked by the wheel into green. The buzzer sounded again, and the girl’s money fell into the pit.

With a groan, the girl stormed off, and the other kids pooled together to fill her space, pulling out their wallets. A couple more kids went, and all of them lost. At least half of them came inches away from getting their pointer on black, only to have the wheel bounce back at the critical moment. After seeing the same phenomenon several more times, Michael elbowed Henry.

“I think I’ve got it!” he said. “The game’s rigged so you can’t get on black. Every time the wheel hits a black spot, something in its inner construction stops it from spinning. The money’s sealed in so you can’t get it out.”

“That’s completely unfair!” Henry responded. “Those kids are being tricked into losing their money!”

“It’s not unfair if you’re the guy managing the game,” Michael said. “Three dollars multiplied by an average twenty suckers a day who decide to play is sixty dollars a day per one game. And if you multiply that by seven days for a week, that’s already four-hundred twenty dollars. It’s a winner.”

Henry shook his head in disdain. The wheel master was getting more energetic by the minute. The crowd replenished itself as some kids left and others approached, but gradually it began to thin when the trainers realized that no one was winning.

And yet the man was constantly searching, scanning everyone over with his poisonous smile. “Step right up, trainers! See if you have what it takes to win!”

As if by accident, his eyes locked on Henry. He approached. “Hey there, little fella! Three dollars for a game?”

“No,” Henry said, flushing.

The man seemed surprised, but not dejected. “Why not? If you win, you get fifty bucks! And if you win twice, you get an extra hundred!”

“I said no.” Henry stepped away, hands behind his back. “Your game’s a cheat.”

The man began to laugh. “Kid doesn’t know what he’s talking about… isn’t that precious? Come on, let’s play.”

“No!” Henry backed up again.

The man followed him, now with a slight hint of annoyance crossing his face. “Come on, it’s not that hard! It’s just a wheel! People play it all the time!”

Henry continued to trail through the aisle. Their little game of chase continued until Henry retreated behind one of the slot machines, ducking down. The man swore under his breath, though not altogether quietly, and turned instead to Michael.

“How about you, kid? Want to win?”

Michael cast away his gaze. “Not particularly.”

The man jut out his lower lip. “Why not?”

“Because I’m the son of a billionaire and I get whatever I want all the time. I have people like you scrub my floors.”

The man gritted his teeth. Taking advantage of the opening, Michael ran up to the wheel and slammed his palm against the highest speed. The pointer hit a black slot, and bounced back with a sharp twang, rotating in the opposite direction from the barrier.

The trainers gasped. “The wheel’s a joke!” Michael called. “Watch!” He gave it another spin, and the wheel groaned, ricocheting off of its own momentum. “You can’t get it on black!”

Catching on to the trick, the trainers erupted in anger.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” one girl called out. “I want my money back!”

“Yeah!”

A wave of hands began to pound the table, trying to force open the glass dome. The wheel master ran up to them, his face panicked. “Stop! No! Stop!”

Michael began to laugh, slinking off to the side. Several Game Corner staff rushed to the scene, parting the crowd, forcing the kids away from the wheel. Amid the commotion, the wheel master jerked a finger at Michael, shouting to anyone that would hear: “GET HIM! GET THAT KID!”

Michael was about to bolt for the door, when he remembered Henry. He scanned the area, but the boy was nowhere in sight. Inch by inch, the entire Game Corner was thrown into a mini-riot as people pushed past one another to see what was going on. Still, a rare few kids, completely oblivious to their surroundings, kept right on playing.

“Michael! Michael!”

Henry’s voice rose out momentarily from the wails, but its source was lost. Michael cupped his hands around his mouth to respond, but just then, he was shoved rudely aside against a slot machine, falling on his knees. A line of men rushed past.

“Out of the way! Out of the way! Hearthome Police!”

A line of policemen forced its way through the aisle, and as the children caught glimpse of their badges and guns, they paled and shrank against the walls. The noise died down in waves, and the Game Corner staff froze in their tracks, their arms splayed, unsure what to do.

Suddenly, the deafening music stopped. As one, the screens of the slot machines froze, as did the Poké-basketball stands, and the videogames, their images breaking into tiny black-and-white stripes as if the entire room had been stricken by the same glitch. The ceiling lights flickered on, bathing everything in stark white light. A nervous murmur rose in the room, and Michael wondered what the hell was going on.

The policemen reached the roulette wheel, and the crowd of children parted, as if by backing away they would remove the blame from themselves. The wheel master stood still, the microphone dangling from his fingers, mouth hanging open in disbelief. Police officers were standing at every corner of the room, moving large groups of trainers against the walls.

A voice rose out from the silence. “Excuse me, excuse me.”

Michael turned. A tall man was making his way through the path cut by the officers, gently moving the trainers aside as they passed by him. He had a neat, calm composure, and a crew cut that meant business. He walked in powerful strides straight for the roulette table.

As if by instinct, the wheel master jerked back, eyes wide with recognition. “You again! I told you, I have nothing to say!”

“The Hearthome City Police seemed to have a different story,” replied the newcomer. His voice was calm, but behind his glasses his eyes were blazing. “They were under the impression that your little Game Corner was complying to federal regulations, but apparently, you felt the need to persist with your schemes.” The man stepped forward. “I told you that the next time I saw you step out of line, I’d make sure that your little joint gets shut down, didn’t I? And now I’m following through with my promise.”

The wheel master’s face contorted. “You can’t do this!” he sputtered. “You can’t prove anything!”

“Can’t prove that you’ve been running an illegal practice right under their noses? I’m afraid I can.” The newcomer smirked. “And if scamming young trainers is your idea of fun, then in truth, my complaints against the League are justified. It’s people like you that are to blame for its decline, end of story.”

Michael looked around. The policemen were cuffing the Game Corner staff, who had tried to trickle into a back room and hide. At this, the wheel master gritted his teeth in fury.

“All the money you ripped from these children, every last cent of it, will be repaid by you and your associates,” the newcomer said.

Michael grinned, and he made sure that the wheel master saw it as the police officers cuffed his hands behind his back. As they led him out, the wheel master struggled against their grip.

“You slime!” he yelled. “You think you can just prance around and shove your nose into everyone’s business! I tell you, this isn’t over! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”

The man chuckled. Once the wheel master had been dragged out of the building, he stepped back to address the whole room. “As for you, trainers, I am disappointed. Gambling is not how you spend your parent’s money, or the money that you’ve earned through battles. It’s dishonorable, and often leads to legal consequences. Fortunately, none of you are under arrest today, because it is my firm belief that you were lured in here by advertisements, or from following your friends. However, since you all have assumed the great privilege and responsibility of traveling by yourselves to compete, you should all use a little more common sense when making decisions.”

There was a low murmur, and some of the trainers stared down in shame at their shoes.

“The police will now escort you out, and you can continue with your daily activities. Thank you.”

The remaining officers led the trainers out, like farmers tending a herd of sheep. Michael remained where he was, and when everyone was gone, he stood up, brushing the dust from his jeans.

“Henry!” he called. “You there?”

“Yeah!” came the reply. Henry jumped out from his hiding place and ran up to Michael. The man had neared the exit, and when they approached, he held the door open for them.

“Whoops. We’ve got two more.”

Michael and Henry ducked under his arm and stepped out of the building. When they were outside, Henry looked up.

“Thank you!”

“No problem,” the man replied, letting the door swing closed.

“I meant for calling the police,” Henry said. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

The man seemed surprised at Henry’s gratitude, though he nodded.

“How did you know to call them?”

The man sighed, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. “I’ve had my eye on this place for a while now. It’s a shame what the League’s turned into. Ten years ago, it used to be an honest competition, but now it’s transformed into a commercial hoopla. These Game Corners have sprung up in practically all the Gym towns, and they’ve even trickled into regular ones too. They’re supposedly here for a good cause, to give a percentage of their profits back to the League, but all they’re really doing is raising money for themselves by scamming children like you.”

“How do you know all that?” Henry said.

“I’ve been around,” the man replied with a shrug.

“Do you work for the League?”

His man’s eyes twinkled. Michael caught a smile that almost, but did not quite cross the man’s face. “No, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out right from wrong. Sometimes, though, you have to really pay attention to make sure you’re not being scammed.”

“The wheel thing was rigged,” Michael put in, and the man turned. “I don’t think a lot of the kids realized it. Then the guy kept trying to get me and Henry to play.”

“But we told him we didn’t want any of it,” Henry added brightly. “We told him to shove off.”

The man seemed genuinely relieved. “Good. Good job on your part for not giving in. But I’m afraid there are plenty of people like those guys, always looking to trick trainers into doing something they don’t need to be doing. The League was founded upon a good principle—you can’t buy success. Of course, some of the things they’ve been doing lately have contradicted that, but the core purpose remains the same.” The man looked at them for a moment, his face grave. “You can’t buy success. Remember that, okay?”

Michael nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

“Thank you,” Henry said.

The man smiled. “Don’t mention it. Now run along. I have other things I need to take care of, and the police chief told me that they’ll be closing down the premises soon. So we better not stick around.”

He walked off. A line of police cars was blocking the road, and barriers had been set up for a detour. Most of the trainers of the Game Corner were gone now, though some still lingered to observe the proceedings. Michael watched the man stop to have a word with a group of officers, then he took out the map that had been folded in his pocket. Henry came up behind him.

“So we’ll be sticking with the directions this time?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah.”



//////



The trainer store appeared a bit further down the street from the Game Corner, sandwiched between a diner and a boutique store. It was a completely nondescript building, unrecognizable save for a small window sign and a pokéball logo. When Michael noticed it, he immediately led Henry after him.

Inside, it looked like nothing more than a stale convenience store. The space was divided into aisles, the shelves bearing things like trainer wear, pokéball belts, and backpacks. There was only one register at the counter, and one man on duty. When Michael and Henry entered, he was sitting with his back turned, reading a newspaper.

Michael tapped the surface of the counter. The man turned suddenly, his eyes popping open as if from a daydream.

“Huh? Wha? Oh.” He swiveled around, tossing the newspaper off to the side. “Hello. Can I help you?”

“I need a new Trainer Card,” Michael said. “When I was in Oreburgh, my old one got—”

The man held up his hand. “I get it. You lost it. Happens.” He shrugged. “Pay two dollars for a new one?”

Michael nodded. The man opened a drawer beneath the desk and took out a sheet of paper. “All right. Just fill this out for me then.”

He handed Michael a pen. To his relief, the document was simple. It had a blank space for his name, the badges he currently possessed, and which starter, if any, he had received. Michael filled out the form and handed it back to the man, who stood and led him to a small photo booth in the back.

Michael sat down on the bench, against a blank white background. The man took down a camera from one of the shelves, fastening the strap around his neck.

“Say cheese.”

Michael put on a half-smile, and the man made a couple of shots. Then he disappeared behind another door with the paper in hand, and several minutes later he came out with a freshly-laminated card.

“Here you go.”

For a moment, Michael looked at it. The Trainer Card resembled a passport, with his name at the top in huge black letters, and his photo on the left hand side. On the bottom row were eight slots that stood for the Gym badges, where the man had applied two stickers for the Coal Badge and the Forest Badge.

So that’s it? He turned over the card, and saw that there was a black strip on the back, but nothing else. After all the panic of the previous day, he had received his card with all the nonchalance of a class picture.

“You can get the rest of the sticker package for ninety-nine cents,” the man offered.

“No, it’s fine.”

“All right.” The man went back around the counter, and Michael paid him at the register. The man gave Michael a transparent case for the card, and with his new merchandise in hand, Michael left the store.

As he and Henry walked back, Michael placed the card into the innermost pocket of his backpack and zipped it up. “Huh. So it’s that easy?”

He looked to Henry, but was puzzled to see the same expression of surprise on the boy’s face.

“I guess,” Henry said. “I never saw how they made the card, because when I went to the place in my town they were out of laminates. They had to mail it to me instead. But now that I think about it, if it really only takes ten minutes, then why did I have to come on a weekend?”

Michael shrugged, brushing off the question. He was too busy basking in relief to analyze anything, and he was fairly certain that there wasn’t even a problem to mull over. “At least I don’t have to worry about fraud anymore,” he said aloud. “All I have to do is get this to Jerry, and then we’re set.”


When they entered the parking lot of the Trainer’s Hotel, Michael saw a woman leaning against a car. Her head was bent back towards the sky, the sun reflecting off of her sunglasses in two searing smudges. It was Bertha.

When the boys approached, she smiled at them. “Hey. I finally got around to getting a rental car. Walking is just too annoying, and for someone like me who’s on the go a lot, this is just the thing. You like?” She stepped aside, revealing the automobile in full. It was a baby blue Buick, in pristine condition. Its tires were coal black, and its windows were spotless.

Michael brushed his finger against the hood, over the chrome insignia. “Nice.”

Bertha laughed. “The other cars were either filthy or didn’t go past twenty miles per hour. So I asked them to give me a new one.”

“Can it take us to Jerry’s?” Michael said. “I got my Trainer Card.”

Bertha perked an eyebrow. “That fast?”

“Yeah. We got directions to a store from a lady at the hotel.”

“Hmm. Well that’s good. Don’t like to procrastinate, do we?” Bertha smiled. “Can I see the card?”

Michael took it out of his backpack and handed it to her. Bertha looked it over, lifting her glasses. “Looks okay to me. Just one thing…” Her face clouded.

Michael tensed. “What?”

Bertha did not speak for a few seconds. “You should’ve done a better smile,” she said finally. “You look like you’re in pain.” She brightened, and Michael felt a surge of relief.

Bertha unlocked the front door to the Buick and climbed inside. “Hop in, then!”

Michael and Henry got into the backseat, and she pulled out of the parking lot.

They drove to Jerry’s office, and the Gym leader was happy to see them. He took Michael immediately over to his desk, and Michael handed him the Trainer Card. Jerry examined it under the light. “Looks good! You’re all set, Michael. Battle’s next Monday, don’t forget.”

“No problem,” Michael said. “I won’t.”

He was immensely relieved when he got back into the car. Michael settled down in the backseat, content with watching the town roll by. They reached the road on which the hotel was located, but instead of turning, Bertha continued to go straight, passing the next intersection.

Michael leaned forward. “Uh, Bertha? Where are we going?”

“Relax, kiddo. We’re making one more stop.”

“Where?” asked Henry.

“You’ll see.”

She maneuvered through a strange, jumbled sequence of roads and turns, letting the buzz of downtown fade behind them. They entered a sparse, quieter part of the city, where the road was bordered by trees and the buildings became longer and shorter, resembling apartments.

Bertha parked near one of the buildings and led them to a door. Clearing her throat, she knocked twice.

“Who is it?” came a voice.

“It’s Bertha.”

There was a pause, and then the door was opened by an older woman. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she looked rather tired. When she saw Bertha, however, she smiled. “Ah. Bertha. It’s been a while.” Her face fell slightly. “I see you’ve left the Gym.”

“Only temporarily,” Bertha replied. “Something’s come up, and I want to talk to you about it. Can we come in?”

“Certainly.” The woman allowed them inside. Her home was plain and undecorated, furnished to the absolute minimum, as if she spent most of her time somewhere else. The house was sleek and clean—so much like a magazine picture that it made Michael uncomfortable.

The woman guided them to a small sitting area and sat down in an armchair, brushing back loose strands of hair. Bertha took the other chair, leaving Michael and Henry to the couch.

As they settled down, the woman lifted a cup of tea that had been sitting on the coffee table and took a sip. The silence of her house was so arid that each movement seemed to produce an echo.

She stared at the opposite wall for a while, then spoke. “So. How have you been, Bertha? I heard what happened in Eterna… and I must say I’m not surprised. I just hope that whoever that building was insured to didn’t get too much money back.”

Bertha laughed. “You of all people would know.”

The woman nodded coolly. She sipped her tea again.

“I had a hunch you’d be here,” Bertha continued, “but I wasn’t sure. Your schedule is pretty erratic. How much longer do you think you’ll be staying in Hearthome? You look like you’ve packed already.”

The woman shrugged. “There isn’t much to pack. I’m only supposed to be here till the end of the month. Then it’s back to Veilstone.”

Michael looked at her in amazement. Even in the suburbs, life in Veilstone was notoriously expensive. Most of the people who were lucky enough to be there were only passing through, or else were short-term residents on business duties. The real residents of Veilstone were people who were extremely rich, not exactly the type who would live in a cramped apartment in Hearthome City just for the heck of it.

Noticing their bemused expressions, Bertha turned to explain. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve introduced my friend here. Boys, this is Anita. She works for Team Galactic.”

Michael and Henry balked in unison.

“That’s right,” said Anita with a sly smile. “Any questions? Any big company secrets you want me to reveal? I’m all yours.”

Bertha snorted. “Come off, Ann. They wouldn’t have the guts to ask you even if you forced them to.”

Anita stirred her tea, chuckling. “Well, I wouldn’t be able to say anything important anyway. I work for the supply division, which coordinates the purchase and transport of materials,” she told the boys. “It’s a boring job, but it pays.”

A portion of Michael’s questions were satisfied, but now that he was aware that he was in the presence of a Galactic worker, his mind raised a hundred more. But he chose to remain silent, and again Anita spoke.

“So what is it you wanted to tell me, Bertha? Is it something to do with your Gym?”

“Indirectly, yes.” Bertha opened her briefcase. “I’m petitioning the federal government. I want them to cut some of Team Galactic’s funding—which if you don’t mind me saying has reached a ridiculous amount—and give the Pokémon League back the money it deserves. If the government keeps cutting funds from the League in favor of Galactic, then the League will die. And I thought that—”

“You thought that since I work for them that I’d be able to help you?” Anita lowered the cup.

“Yes,” Bertha replied. “In any way you can. I’m aiming for about nine hundred signatures, but to really make an impact on the President I need signatures and letters of approval from at least twenty qualified people. I’ll be getting a bunch from the Gym leaders and other League staff, but I also need someone from within Team Galactic itself who knows what’s going on and supports my goal.”

Anita leaned back, crossing her legs. “Bertha, what you’re asking is for me to defy the policies of my company in order to pay my allegiance to your cause. You do realize that if anybody higher up than me finds out and interprets this the wrong way then I can lose my job? You’ll be in trouble too when they learn that you’re the one perpetrating this. So much of this depends on chance, and I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Team Galactic doesn’t have the best sense of humor.”

Bertha held up her hand. “I know. That’s why I came here as your friend, not as a businesswoman. You don’t have to help me, but I would really appreciate it if you did. That’s all I’m saying.”

Anita leaned back on her elbow and traced her gaze across the ceiling, as if to catch a thought that was drifting there. She looked at Michael and Henry, then back at Bertha, as if drawing a sudden connection between them. “Team Galactic is a force to be reckoned with. They generate more than one-third of the federal government’s revenue. If they decided to break ties with us, then the whole economy would be thrown off-balance, and it would take one hell of a comeback to bring us back up to speed.” A somber smile crossed her face. “Winning the Presidential election might be a tad easier, Bertha.”

“That’s why I need all the help I can get,” Bertha said. “I’m not asking for Galactic to change their entire policy. I just want them to be mindful of their surroundings so we don’t have another Eterna City on our hands. I mean that in every way. They’re destroying nature, and they’re hindering the League, which is pointless when both should coexist. But the thing that’s preventing that from happening is all these heads and bosses and people who tell us what to do. But if we can just show them what they’re doing wrong, then I’m sure we can fix their old mistakes before it’s too late.”

Anita smiled. “Fighting for what’s right, as usual. I agree, Team Galactic and the Pokémon League can and should find a common ground. But it’s risky… oh, Bertha, I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Bertha said. “This isn’t entirely risk-free for me either. I went on leave to do this, and per the League rules, I’m not supposed to do that unless there’s a genuine emergency, so...” She shrugged, turning up her palms. “I guess I could lose my job too. But you know what? It’s worth it. At least I’ll know that I tried something.”

Anita tapped her chin, staring at Bertha intently. Finally, she sat up. “All right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll write you a letter, and I’ll give it to you before I leave town.”

Bertha inclined her head. “Thank you.”

The women rose. Anita led them out, waving as they got into the car, then disappeared swiftly behind her door.

On the drive back, Henry leaned over to Bertha’s seat. “You have a lot of friends, Bertha.”

Bertha threw her head back and laughed. “Wait till you meet my cousin Bernie. He’s an Elite Four.”

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ October 1st, 2011 4:21 AM

Quote:

and look for us when we appear on TV.
Oops, don't know if I missed that one or whether you added it in after I looked over the first version of this chapter.

Quote:

Bobby had fulfilled his promise of falling asleep, and though Tom seemed to be doing his best to pay attention, he often turned to exchange a murmur with Ned.
Yeah, I know... Contests are a lot more exciting when guns and murder mysteries are involved :P

Actually, I'm not quite sure if they would have had computerized arcade/casino games back in that time period... I don't think the technology was quite there yet. Probably the big casinos of that day had more of the slot machines, roulette wheels, and card tables.

Man, what is it with Hearthome and scamming people? Back then it was the Game Corner, and more recently it was the Contests themselves. And of course it didn't escape my notice that after busting up a scam operation, Michael tries to pull a fast one on his own...

And yes, it is quite ironic that Nancy and crew missed a huge news story that happened right under their noses.

It actually doesn't surprise me that Michael was able to get his ID so easily... back then they didn't have computerized networks linked to a big national database so that they can verify stuff like that. Though, he just better be careful... if anyone gets suspicious, there's probably some way that those records can be checked, although it'll probably boil down to good old sifting through paperwork. So I do have to wonder if it'll eventually catch up with him, even though he's in the clear for now...

Quote:

It was a baby blue Buick, in pristine condition.
Lisa would be proud :)

Getting support from someone who works within Galactic... that's a pretty big risk for both parties involved, and I can think of several ways things could go horribly wrong. But if they did go horribly wrong, that would just make for a more interesting plot xD But under-funded as the League is, they still somehow have enough to provide lodging facilities for trainers... of course the likes of Quality Inn could do a much better job at it. Just saying.

Quote:

“Wait till you meet my cousin Bernie. He’s an Elite Four.”
Now wait a minute, Bernie's the name of a Gym leader in my region... not to mention the most prolific scam artist of our time :P

And thus concludes the second review in a row with lots of fraud references. Looking forward to the next chapter!

Haruka of Hoenn October 1st, 2011 9:12 AM

Quote:

Actually, I'm not quite sure if they would have had computerized arcade/casino games back in that time period... I don't think the technology was quite there yet. Probably the big casinos of that day had more of the slot machines, roulette wheels, and card tables.
Gahh, that seems like sort of a bad call on my part... I did a little research on arcade history, so I'll make the edits later.

Quote:


And yes, it is quite ironic that Nancy and crew missed a huge news story that happened right under their noses.

It wasn't that huge in truth, but it would have been miles better than the Contests :P Bobby would think so, at least.

Quote:

And of course it didn't escape my notice that after busting up a scam operation, Michael tries to pull a fast one on his own...
Gotta love the irony :)

Quote:

It actually doesn't surprise me that Michael was able to get his ID so easily... back then they didn't have computerized networks linked to a big national database so that they can verify stuff like that. Though, he just better be careful... if anyone gets suspicious, there's probably some way that those records can be checked, although it'll probably boil down to good old sifting through paperwork. So I do have to wonder if it'll eventually catch up with him, even though he's in the clear for now...
Hee hee. Nothing like the ol' secret to keep things going...

And yes, the League is underfunded, but it still has money to maintain the hotels and run its normal proceedings... but if they get cut any more, then the strain will begin to show. So yes, it's really important that Bertha asked for Anita's help.

As for Bernie, that was truthfully just a name I came up with on the spot. Though now that I take your example into consideration, this chapter has an awful lot of references to scams and con artists! it was a complete accident i swear

xD

Thanks for reviewing!

Haruka of Hoenn October 11th, 2011 4:45 AM

Hello there. I'm sort of early this time, but after spending an extra two days with my final draft, I decided that there was nothing else to stuff in here and it was good to go ahead and post. (One of the scenes I've had a plan for months back, actually, so half of it pretty much wrote itself anyway. :P)


Before I get started with this chapter of mine, I will bother you with only a few brief things.

Firstly, I hope you don't mind me sticking a little visual aid in here. I wanted to draw Michael's chart for you guys, but since there's no table tool here, I settled with having it as an image.

Secondly, this chapter is nice and short, unlike the previous one which for some reason ended up being so long that I couldn't even include a comment before the text. It's almost refreshing to be back in the 12-13 page range again. And I never thought I'd say that.

One more thing.

Spoiler:
If you were wondering how to pronounce that wacky name of the Galactic commander, it's Tee-all-us Blue. It appeared in an earlier chapter, but I never really explained it, so I was wondering if it would confuse anybody. The 'h' is there, but it's silent.




1.8

As with most cities, days in Hearthome passed quickly. From sunup to sundown, Michael did little but work, going over battle plans with Henry. They made plans for training, plans for what to do when they got to the next Gym town, and plans for making plans. It was like a sick, twisted form of a school project, only now the stakes were higher and Michael didn’t have much room to procrastinate.

Bertha left them alone for the most part, departing at around ten each morning and coming back at six in the evening. She slipped little notes under their door from time to time, to let them know that she was still around, and to let them on to how her petition was coming along. Bertha never gave them the details, but she did tell them the kinds of people she was corresponding with and how many in-advance signatures she had been promised.

Henry followed her petition’s progress with full support, even suggesting places for Bertha to visit and asking about how she planned on getting so many signatures in a constrained amount of time. Much of their talk took place over dinner at the hotel’s cafeteria, meals during which Michael sat back in silence, focusing on his food. He was the same fan of Team Galactic he had been for the entire Space Race’s duration, and knew that it would always stay that way. The thought of Galactic suddenly losing funding from the federal government and turning into corporate backwash was sickening, and would be like him losing his whole childhood. It was out of respect for Bertha and pity for Henry that he didn’t comment on the petition when the subject came up.

In times like these, his thoughts drifted back to home, where Cory and Brendan were still stuck in the Jubilife suburbs, spending the rest of their summer vacation doing God-knew-what. With the sudden pause in space updates, they had probably moved on to other things, perhaps hunting more pokémon or having adventures out in the city.

The dawn of June 4th marked the one-week anniversary of the Deoxys discovery’s announcement, and as the days crept into the 5th and 6th, Michael began to scourge the newspapers on the lobby racks, hoping for any sort of update. But there were none. Each morning and evening when he turned to the news, all Michael would see was the same rerun of the Space Race, with the same guy in the same suit, reading off the same paper.

It confused him to no end, but as the battle drew nearer, Michael didn’t have time to get carried away with his thoughts. He and Henry had refined their strategies, coordinating their teams to their best potential, but the one thing they were still missing was Jerry’s type preference. Depending on what it was, they could either continue with the pokémon they had, or would have to start over and catch new ones.

And for the most part, Michael wasn’t in a pokémon-catching mood. On his frequent strolls around Hearthome, he didn’t see many places where wild pokémon could live, even if they wanted to. Other than the occasional Pachirisu scampering about near a tree, the selection wasn’t too great.

The city did have one advantage, however, in the park of Amity Square. Here was where Michael and Henry spent most of their time, observing what pokémon were brought in each day. Michael habitually brought his notebook and pencil along, and together with Henry, he would walk around and inquire passerby about their pokémon. They often met a trainer or two, but in such a public, leisurely place, a battle would have been unfeasible.

So Michael simply became content with asking questions, walking around like some sort of reporter and asking for people to comment on their pokémon’s type, movesets, and any other miscellaneous information about their natures. His questions raised many eyebrows, but on the whole, provided him with much useful information. Henry would gather information as well, and at the end of the day they would pool together their notes, and Michael would write them down on a separate sheet of paper. The information they collected about pokémon accumulated, and eventually the tiny, crammed chart he had drawn was no longer big enough to hold all his new data. So Michael flipped over to a clean page and drew his table anew.






So far, he had catalogued eight types, based on everything he had observed up until then in his battles. He made sure to leave several slots open at the bottom, for where he would fill in any new types he encountered. As some of his notes on specific pokémon were too lengthy to copy, he left those pages alone. Michael flipped back to them from time to time, and wondered when they would ever come in handy. He had calculated every scenario he could think of, but the rest, he knew, would be a matter of luck.



//////



On the morning of Thursday, June 9th, Jerry prepared an unexpected treat. Normally, Michael, Henry, and Bertha would have their meals at the hotel, but that day Jerry had a two-hour break, and wanted to use the time to talk to Bertha about her petition. So he took them all out to Kiera’s Breakfast Place, where the tables were nice and clean and large windows let in a generous amount of light. And after eating the same breakfast for several days straight, Michael was grateful to go someplace else for a change.

There was a small crowd populating the café despite the early hour. The four settled down at a decent-sized table, beside a window overlooking a small garden. The café had a built-in buffet, which Michael took advantage of to get the best food as possible. He returned to the table with a colorful tray of milk, cereal, a muffin, and pancakes. Henry’s plate was similar.

The four of them ate together for a while, picking from a center bowl of fruit, while Jerry and Bertha discussed the goings-on.

“So I managed to talk to the leaders of Solaceon and Pastoria,” Jerry said. “You’ll be happy to hear that they're willing to consider your idea."

Bertha smiled. “Wonderful. Now all that’s left is to visit them. I sent a letter to Byron, and he just got back to me with his signature, so that’s one Gym down already. What about the others?”

Jerry stirred his coffee, blending it with cream. “Snowpoint’s been difficult to contact, but they promised me that they’d get back to me within the week. Sunyshore is interested, and I haven’t had the chance to contact Canalave yet. On the whole, though I’d say our operation is going pretty smoothly so far.”

“That’s great to hear,” Bertha said.

Michael was only half-paying attention to their conversation, being preoccupied with trying to squeeze the last drop of maple syrup from the annoying plastic bottle onto his pancakes. When he finally got it, the bottle made a loud sucking noise that brought a brief silence to the table. Henry let out a giggle.

As if on cue, Jerry turned to Michael. “So how goes the training, boys?”

Michael shrugged. “Good.” He didn’t bother getting into the details, nor did he feel the need to add that he was in the process of assembling a chart that would counter any type imaginable. He simply settled into a satisfied silence, and Henry did the same.

“I hope you’re really working your butts off,” Bertha said. “The Gyms get harder with every town, and Jerry’s no exception.”

Jerry chuckled. “Bertha tells it how it is, fellas.”

Henry smiled, and looked down at his plate. He had been strangely silent for the duration of their breakfast, and now more than ever he seemed to be weighing something in his mind. Finally, he looked up again. “Jerry, how long have you been a Gym leader?”

Jerry tapped his fingers together. “Ten years, just about. I joined the League when I was eighteen as an Apprentice trainer, and then I got offered the post of the Hearthome Gym when I was twenty.”

“Is there an age limit on when you can join?” Henry said.

“Yes, but it’s really only a formality. If you’re good enough, then they’ll take you. The youngest Gym leader was fifteen years old, in fact.”

Henry munched on his cereal for a moment, and swallowed. “So… what’s your favorite type of pokémon to use?”

Michael looked up. So that had been Henry’s plan. He had to admit, it was pretty good thinking, catching Jerry off-guard at such a casual moment. For a minute, Henry’s flickered over to Michael, and Michael quietly cleared his throat.

Don’t mess this up… he thought, fiddling with the corner of his napkin.

Jerry thought for a moment, biting his lip. “I have to say I like the Psychic type the most. They’re pretty sneaky, and it takes a really clever battler to learn how to manipulate them. Normally, I don’t like to confine my battle team to a single type, but as per the League rules, I have to state my official Gym type. And I chose Psychic.”

“That’s really cool!” Henry said. “I like Psychic pokémon too.” He flashed an innocent smile, and quickly went back to eating his food.

Suddenly, a faint flicker crossed Bertha’s face, and she seemed to tense ever so slightly. Or maybe Michael had imagined it. She made no comment as she sipped her coffee, and then as if nothing had happened, she turned back to Jerry.

“I talked to a friend of mine the other day,” Bertha continued. “She’s a lower-division employee of Team Galactic, but she asked me to keep her name anonymous, at least for now.”

Jerry nodded. “And?”

“She gave us her support.”

“Bertha, that’s wonderful! Having the support of someone on the inside will really make this thing hit home.”

“That’s what I’m thinking too. If the President sees the signature of a Team Galactic worker on a petition about Team Galactic, then he’ll really have to consider that something’s wrong.”

Jerry smiled slyly. “You never told me that you had a friend from Team Galactic. How long have you known her?”

“A while now,” Bertha said. “Long before I knew she worked for the company, actually. We met while I was still going through my examinations for becoming a Gym leader. I didn’t have a clue until I saw the stitch on one of her coats, and then she just flat-out told me. I was shocked, and even more so at the fact that she could keep it hidden so well.”

“That’s interesting… but predictable, to say the least.” A strange expression of pity crossed Jerry’s face. “I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her. Does she travel a lot?”

“Naturally. Sometimes I feel like she has to avoid the world when she’s on duty, and I feel sorry for her, because she loves Sinnoh.” Bertha shook her head slowly, half-smiling. “Honestly, how long does Blue think he can keep this shit up anyway?”

“As long as he wants to,” said Jerry. “A better question would be when will he have no choice but to face the world.”

Michael, who had settled into detached listening, blinked in confusion. “Blue? Who’s Blue?”

“Blue,” Bertha repeated, looking at him. “Thealus Blue?”

Michael shook his head, and Bertha chuckled. “For someone who loves the Space Race, kid, you sure don’t know your stuff. Thealus Blue is the founder and owner of Team Galactic.”

Michael gaped. “You serious?”

“Completely.”

“But what kind of name is that?” Henry piped in. “It seems so weird.”

“Weird guy, weird company. What’s there to get?” Bertha crumpled her napkin. “At any rate, I wouldn’t care if his name was Sunshine Smith. He’ll have a lot to answer to at the rate he’s going.”

Henry frowned. “What do you mean? Are you talking about what Team Galactic’s doing in the Space Race?”

“More than that. I’m talking about the whole company. Blue’s practically turned it into the eighth wonder of the world. There’s so much speculation and rumors going on, but no one knows the truth about anything. Not even about him.”

Henry put his elbows on the table. “But why wouldn’t they know about Blue? If he’s the head of Team Galactic, then wouldn’t he be doing press conferences and stuff?”

“That’s the thing,” Jerry said with a smile. “He doesn’t. No one’s heard anything from or about him in almost twenty years. He could be dead for all we know. If he stepped down and put someone else in charge of Team Galactic, no one would be able to tell.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Wow. It must be hard to stay out of the public eye like that.”

“It is,” Bertha said. “Especially in these days. I don’t know if he does it all by himself, or if he just forces his associates to keep quiet for him, but whatever he’s doing, he’s doing a hell of a good job. No one ever knows what Galactic is up to. Ever. Even the people who live in Veilstone City don’t know exactly where the headquarters are located. They say it’s up in the mountains.”

“Then how do you guys know about him?” Michael asked.

“Oh, his name comes up every so often,” she replied. “But it’s always in the context of his position, like ‘Mr. Blue’s corporation’ this and that. The guy’s never actually given his voice for an interview before. Almost no one in Galactic has.”

“Actually, that’s not entirely correct,” said Jerry. “You probably don’t remember this Bertha, and you two wouldn’t know this at all,” he pointed to the boys, “but fifteen years ago, Blue actually made a public statement. It was brief, and there weren’t any pictures, but he commented on an operation Team Galactic was undertaking. It was controversial... I think it had something to do with investigating certain rare pokémon species, but whatever it was, it threw the whole nation into an uproar. Protests, boycotts, the whole works. Some of the Galactic heads even got death threats. At that point, I guess Mr. Blue decided he had had enough, and withdrew his company from the public. He took it off of national records, ended all correspondences, and closed down the original headquarters.”

Michael balked. “What could be so bad that they actually got death threats?

Jerry shrugged. “Beats me. But the minute he went silent, all the press reports died down. No one knows if Galactic even finished their operation. I think, especially now with the whole Space Race thing going on, Blue’s hoping that staying anonymous will hide Galactic’s true motive for going into space.”

“But isn’t it already obvious what their motive is?” Michael said. “They want to explore and bring back discoveries. What else could they possibly want?”

Jerry smiled. “No one knows. And that’s what’s keeping everyone on their toes. Galactic’s looking for something, and they want to make sure the Rockets don’t get there first. All those little pictures of the moon they put up on TV are just stalling tactics to make everyone think that there’s progress being made.”

Michael looked down at his emptied plate, his thoughts churning a storm in his mind. All those months he had been keeping score with Cory and Brendan, cheering every time Sinnoh seemed to be winning... had they really just been playing fool the whole time? Was the entire Space Race a sham?

He didn’t have time to get carried away, for at that moment, Bertha rose from her chair. “Well, we better get going. I want to get some paperwork done, and I know you have to leave soon, Jerry.”

Jerry nodded. “Thanks for joining me today, Bertha. You too, boys.” He looked at Michael and Henry and winked. “When the battle rolls around, though, I might not be so nice to you.”

Michael was steady under Jerry’s gaze. He returned the leader’s smile, but it quickly got lost as his thoughts overrode his words again. When they left, he was still deep in thought.



//////



“Good morning Sinnoh. This is Freddie Horner with the Sinnoh News Network, bringing you the top news from all over the country. We are now entering the ninth of June, and my, it is truly a lovely day today. Tales of my Triumph is enjoying its second week at the top of the box office, and not coincidentally either, with the start of the Contest season right around the corner. So folks, if you’re looking for a good movie to see with your friends this weekend, Tales would be it. And for all you music fans out there, the Gallade Renegade will be starting its tour at the end of the month, and I’m told they’re planning one big show…

“For some, however, this month has marked the beginning of disaster. Last week, on Friday, June 3rd, residents of Eterna Town woke up to find their home up in smoke, and were told to evacuate in advance of an explosion that would destroy their homes. This explosion has consumed the entire town, and the smoke from its aftermath has spread to neighboring routes, though it is likely that it will dissipate before it reaches any other major city.

“Rescue teams have been dispatched and are currently searching the remains of the town, hoping to find some clues as to what happened. It has been confirmed that the building from where the explosion originated was a factory owned by Team Galactic. The cause is unknown, but investigators are scrutinizing every possible detail, not ruling out the possibility of a criminal operation. Several Eterna residents claim to have seen a group of unidentified individuals walking towards the factory the night before the explosion took place. No other evidence can be provided, but as rescue workers probe the building’s remains, they hope to discover anything that they can to confirm or rule out a possible criminal maneuver.

“As of now, there have been no reported fatalities due to the incident, but our hearts go out to the families who have lost their homes in the tragedy. We will be bringing you more as the investigations continue. This has been Freddie Horner, live from Jubilife City. Thank you.”




//////



Outside, the sun beat down relentlessly on Hearthome City. Amity Square was a vivid patch of green amid a landscape of gray asphalt, and was populated with a generous crowd despite the heat.

Presently, Nancy Bryan was leaning against a lamppost while her Loudred was having a private moment behind the bushes. Her sunglasses were sticking to her face, and already she could feel the sweat rolling down her hairline and smearing her makeup. About a minute later, the pokémon hobbled back to her, its eyes perpetually wide and round.

“What?” Nancy slurred. “Wahddre you lookin’ at?”

Loudred’s ears perked, as they always did when Nancy talked like this to him, and his mouth parted in a half-clueless gape. This elicited a giggle from her.

Loudred was a funny-looking creature, with a square body, stubby limbs, and large mouth — and a hell of a good voice to go along with it. He was two heads shorter than Nancy was, and being with him made her feel almost like a mother. He was her only pokémon, since she moved too often from place to place to commit to any more, and his presence always calmed and reassured her.

Many of the other park-goers had stared when she sent him out — Sinnohans, apparently, didn’t see many Hoenn pokémon in their daily lives. Most of them walked around with Drifloons, Pachirisus, and Bidoofs, all familiar faces, and then here she was, breaking the status-quo.

Ned, Tom, and Bobby were strolling about with their pokémon as well. Ned was with Volbeat, Tom with Flygon, and Bobby with Seviper. After a good few days of being stuck in their pokéballs, apart from routine feedings and breaktimes, the pokémon were clearly relieved to be let out for a change.

Tom’s Flygon was currently doing somersaults in the air, the sun gleaming off her wings and muscles. Seviper was hunting for something in the grass, and Bobby was following, egging him on. Volbeat had drifted off to a flowering tree, sniffing at the blooms.

“Come on, buddy, let’s go say hi to our friends.” Nancy beckoned to Loudred, and led him over to Ned and Tom, who were sharing a bench. They looked up as she approached, and Nancy let out a sigh, stretching her arms out under the sun.

“Well, this definitely feels good. I think this is the first break we’ve had all month.”

Ned, who had been dozing, rubbed his eyes. “Says Mrs. Works-a-Lot? Who brought her notebook along?”

Nancy looked down at her purse, which was lying at the foot of the bench. She had brought her notebook, but she wasn’t really planning on using it. It was more of a habit than a hope.

In reply, Nancy brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Aw, shut up.”

She sat down beside them, and Loudred lumbered over to join her. Leaning back, Nancy casually swept her gaze across the park. When she wasn’t on the hunt for stories, she loved to people-watch, just sitting back and observing life’s daily proceedings. Amity Square was generously populated with people, some of whom had arrived in full workout uniform, and were jogging with their pokémon along the paths. Others were just strolling about in the grass, among the hills and flowers.

She sat still for a moment, then glumly blew a strand of hair away from her face. “So, did you guys see the news this morning?”

“Yeah,” said Ned. For a minute, he too grew somber. “Well, there’s nothing much we can do now. We’re on the other side of the continent.”

“I know,” Nancy said. She had tuned in to the SNN station that morning, out of partial-curiosity-mostly-resentment, and was mildly surprised to see the coverage of the Eterna explosion. Of course, the news would have eventually spread anyhow, but there was something in Freddie Horner’s tone that she did not like. Nancy had shuddered slightly when he had mentioned the band of mysterious individuals, and though she had enough common sense to know that the incident could never be traced back to them, it still made her appreciate how close she had really come to ruin. None of her story-getting plans had exactly worked to her liking before, but none of them had gone so horribly, embarrassingly wrong either. The sooner all the hype about Eterna would end, she decided, the better.

Nancy bent her head back and let the rest of her thoughts escape in a long, greedy yawn. Wiping her eyes, she silently resumed her survey of the park.

This time, by random chance, her eyes alighted upon a boy who stood by the fountain, looking out at nothing in particular. His appearance was slightly rowdy, like the type of kid who would sit in the back of class and throw paper balls, but in the park setting, he looked calm and focused. She watched him for a while, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything interesting, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

About a minute later, however, the boy reappeared. This time, he was on the move. Unlike the other park-goers, this kid walked with purpose, as if on a mission. She caught sight of him from time to time, never in the same spot, and from certain angles she could see that he was carrying a notebook.

Nancy sat up, watching as the boy approached a lady, who was walking a Luxray on a leash. He talked with her briefly, jotted down some notes, then walked off in search of someone else. A smile tugged at her lips.

That must be what I’m like, she thought. The boy met four more individuals in a similar way, often even kneeling down to look at their pokémon. And then a second boy, slightly shorter, appeared from behind some trees and ran up to the first. He was carrying a notebook too, and when they met, they exchanged a brief conversation.

Nancy leaned forward, her curiosity now getting the better of her. “What are those kids doing?” she muttered.

Beside her, Ned looked up. “Hmm?”

Nancy bit her lip, and shook her head. “Nothing.” She settled back down.

Suddenly, a long, deep croon echoed through the park. Up in the air, Tom’s Flygon finished her last loop and came sweeping down, her large wings spread wide to adjust her altitude. Tom whistled, and Flygon glided over to him, stirring the grass and leaves in her wake.

All around them, people turned and watched in awe as the dragon settled into the grass, its stocky green body barely raising a whisper as it met the ground. Several people stopped in their tracks to watch the marvelous sight. The black-haired boy was among them. As he watched Flygon’s descent, a strange expression crossed his face, and for a moment his blue eyes seemed to light with a deep, hidden fire. As more people arrived, he was obscured from view.

Nancy looked around. “Heh. We’re practically famous around here.”

Tom laughed. “Yeah, someone should do a story about us.”

At that moment, Bobby appeared with Seviper sliding by at his feet. As Seviper passed by Flygon, his pink tongue flickered out, and Flygon hummed something in reply. Bobby surveyed the crowd with a mock-perplexed look, and plopped down beside Nancy.

They basked in the attention for a moment, and then the crowd began to trickle away. The boy, however, remained. When enough people were gone, he approached, notebook tucked under his arm.

Tom was lying on his belly, talking to Flygon and picking at the grass. The boy stopped beside him and opened his notebook. “Hey.”

Tom looked up. “Oh. Hey.”

“Can we help you?” said Nancy.

The boy shrugged, and once again, he resembled a slacker schoolboy. “Not really. Cool Flygon, though. Girl or boy?”

“Girl,” said Tom, raising an eyebrow. “You know about them?”

To Nancy’s surprise, the boy nodded. “Yeah. They’re called the Desert Spirit because they live in Hoenn’s deserts. They’re pretty fast too. They were pitted against each other in races in the seventeenth century. They’re… the second-fastest fliers of all the dragons, I think.”

“Third, actually,” Tom corrected, though he was clearly impressed at the boy’s factual knowledge. Then, he asked the question that Nancy had been keeping in her mind as well. “Are you from Hoenn?”

“No,” said the boy. “I just know from this book I read once.” He looked around at the pokémon surrounding Nancy and her team. “Do you battle?”

Tom rubbed his eyes. “Uh, not anymore. I used to when I was young, but then I decided to take my life in a different direction. And I met these guys over there.” He jerked his thumb towards the bench with a smirk. Bobby rolled his eyes in return.

“You can’t live without us and you know it, Tom,” he hollered.

Tom dismissed him with a wave, turning back to the boy. “So are you a trainer?”

The boy nodded. As he paced carefully around the group of pokémon in the grass, Loudred, in his curious nature, drew near, ears flicking. The boy stopped as Loudred approached, and somewhat tentatively reached out with his free hand. The pokémon flinched back for a moment, then allowed the boy to stroke the top of his head.

“He’s pretty cool,” said the boy.

Nancy smiled. “Thanks. He’s got pretty good endurance too. He helped me fend off a couple of pesterers once. Remember, Ned? Back in Floaroma?”

Ned began to laugh, and the rest of the team joined in. The boy, however, suddenly became serious. As Loudred nudged his elbow, he faced Nancy again. “Helped, how?”

Nancy stifled her giggles behind her palm. “Well, we were back in Floaroma looking for someone to interview, and we had to battle a group of trainers to get into this special club. The guy we wanted was inside, but they wouldn’t let us through because apparently the club was for battlers only. We had let our pokémon out for some fresh air, so they were with us too. We tried to negotiate with the trainers, but then out of nowhere they just whipped out their pokeballs and started to attack our pokémon. So we fought back.”

“And won,” said Ned with a smile. “Though the club turned out to be a real bore…”

The boy nodded. “So, what kinds of moves does Loudred use? Do you know any?”

Nancy rubbed her chin. “Well, he knows Uproar. That was definitely useful... I think he used Supersonic once too, but I can’t be sure.”

The boy wrote all this down. “What about Flygon?”

Tom tallied the moves on his fingers. “Flamethrower, Sandstorm, Dragon Claw, Earthquake, Hyper Beam, Sand Tomb… that’s all I can think of right now.”

The boy turned to Bobby, who tilted back his cap. “Hey, what’s with the 20 Questions?”

The boy shrugged. “I’m researching for my next Gym battle.”

“Researching for a Gym battle?” Bobby whistled. “Holy snap, look at this kid. You got a name?”

“Michael Rowan,” the boy replied.

“Nice to meet you, Michael,” Bobby said.

“Likewise.” The boy closed his notebook for a moment. “So… are you guys like a traveling TV show or something? Like Rising Trainers on SNN?”

Nancy fought back a cringe. “No. We’re uh, a TV station crew. Sinnoh Now.”

“Never heard of it,” the boy said.

“Yeah, but you will,” Bobby cut in. “Just wait. We’re on the hunt for the story of the year. One day you’ll be watching TV and bam—we’ll be there.”

The boy smiled. “But you need a story first, don’t you?”

Nancy did a mental double-take. “That’s… true.”

The boy rocked on his feet for a moment, his eyes drifting up towards the trees. For a minute, it seemed like he was about to say something, but then he simply shrugged. “Well, good luck.” He raised his arm in a lazy sort of wave, and backed away.

Nancy smirked. “Thanks. Good luck with your battle.”

The boy nodded, and walked off. It was just then that Nancy noticed a Turtwig scamper over to him from behind a small bush, its leaf twirling in the breeze. Its skin was a pale blue-green, and its shell was a light, almost gleaming brown.

Nancy leaned forward to get a better look, but the pair quickly retreated down the path, and she could only spot the minor details. Still, they were enough to puzzle her. It was a peculiar sight, and it gave Nancy a peculiar feeling, causing her to wonder if maybe she had seen something like it before.

She rummaged through her mind a bit, but after a moment, she snapped back to reality. It was her day off, for goodness’s sake. If it was anything worth remembering, it would come to her eventually.

For now, she was happy to put it aside.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ October 11th, 2011 5:13 AM

Quote:

trying to squeeze the last drop of maple syrup from the annoying plastic bottle
Yeah, ketchup bottles are like that too, lol

Well now, Michael's type chart is coming along quite nicely. And maybe he's rubbing off on Henry... that ploy to get Jerry to reveal his type preference was quite cunning... though Bertha's possible suspicious stare is a bit unnerving. Still, Psychic isn't represented at all on the type chart, so I'm looking forward to seeing how Michael will prepare for a foe that's an unknown quantity at this point.

Quote:

but investigators are scrutinizing every possible detail, not ruling out the possibility of a criminal operation
Wonder if they're even considering the possibility that the "criminal operation" could be Team Galactic itself... or whether the team big wigs are so influential that they're above suspicion...

Well, looks like we have two sets of interviewers about Amity Square... and *GASP!* they meet! So perhaps this casual neeting between Michael and Nancy & Co. might be hinting that their paths will cross again someday... possibly involving Team Galactic. That would look to be a grand 'ol time :)

Until next chapter! Looking forward to it!

Haruka of Hoenn October 11th, 2011 12:15 PM

The Eterna factory explosion definitely wasn't a criminal job in any sense... that was just to poke some fun at Nancy's crew, since we all know that they were the 'mysterious group' that the newsman mentioned :)

And yes, that was a surprising burst of creativity from Henry. I guess Michael's not the only one who's changing, eh?

I'm having a lot of fun writing about Nancy's crew. Her team and Michael will meet again, and then perhaps we may find out more... For now, though, stay tuned.

Thanks for the review!

Haruka of Hoenn October 30th, 2011 9:03 AM

This one was a challenge to write, but I finally got it to where I wanted it to be. It's small, but important. You'll see why at the end. ;)

Read on!


1.9

By late afternoon, the sky had blossomed into shades of orange and yellow over the park of Amity Square, and Michael had filled two more notebook pages with information. Most of it was basic stuff, observations, and vague connections about possible type matchups that he made a note to test later on, but his most desired information—the type status of Psychic pokémon—remained out of his reach.

As the crowd in the park trickled away, and workers began to close off gates, Michael went back to the central fountain and decided to call it a day. He went looking for Henry, and found the boy sitting on a bench, with his notebook open on his lap. His Clefairy, who had been skipping at his feet for practically the whole day, seemed to have finally run out of fuel. The pokémon was curled up beside him now, like a dozing pink gumdrop.

Michael approached and leaned against the bench. “So what did you find?” he asked.

“Not much,” Henry replied, flipping a page. Up close, Michael saw that the boy looked rather irritated, his mouth curled into a half-pout. Over the many days that they had traveled together, Michael had learned to recognize the Henry Face when he saw it, and crossed his arms.

“What’s with you?” he said. “Did you not get anything or something?”

Henry shook his head. “No. It’s just this trainer I met about an hour ago. He was really annoying.”

“How?”

“He kept watching me while I was walking around and stuff. At first I kind of ignored it, but then he came up to me.” Henry’s expression darkened. “And he asked me if I was a spokesperson for Contests, because nobody in their right mind would walk around with a wimpy Clefairy.”

Michael bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And? You told him to shut it, right?”

“Kinda. Well, I tried to.” Henry let out a breath. “We got into an argument, and at the end he threw a rock at me.”

Michael perked an eyebrow at the sudden twist. “Whoa. Really?”

“Well not at me, but at my feet. Then he just ran off.” Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a bumpy black stone. “I kept it.”

The laugh Michael had been fighting to keep down escaped him in a sudden burst, and he clutched his stomach as he shook. “Why? Man, why?”

A brief smile shone through Henry’s gloom. “I don’t know… I think it’s cool. It's like one of those pumice stones that they find near volcanoes, only it's heavier. Want to see?” Henry proffered the stone.

Michael let his chuckles subside, and placed his hand on the bar of the bench. “You’re hopeless, you know that? First of all, when someone calls your pokémon wimpy, you call their mother wimpy. Second, if someone throws a rock at you, you throw it back. Don’t keep it, for Pete’s sake. Did you want to commemorate the occasion or something?”

Henry shrugged.

“Answer me.”

The boy was silent. Michael sat down on the arm of the bench, placing his hands on his knees. “It’s about time I taught you how to deal with people. Remember how I told you that people are gonna keep stepping all over you until you learned to stick up for yourself?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.

“Well now, if that kid ever sees you again, he’s gonna think you’re an easy target. And you are, because that’s how you presented yourself. Even worse, you kept the thing he threw at you. That’s like taking an F paper and framing it on your wall.”

“I guess…” Henry looked the stone over again and placed it into his pocket. The motion roused the sleeping Clefairy, who cracked open one eye and squealed in disapproval.

“Sorry,” Henry said. “You can go back to sleep.” He patted Clefairy’s head, and she rolled over to the side.

Michael opened his notebook. “So did you get any stuff on Psychic pokémon?”

The boy lowered his head towards his notes again. “I think so. There was this one lady who was out with a Kadabra. She let me watch as it bent these two spoons.”

“And how did that go?”

“Well, it held them up.” Henry drew up his arms in imitation. “Then it sort of squinted… and they bent. Just like that.” He smiled. “It was really cool. It didn’t touch them or anything — it just sort of used its mind.”

Michael pondered this. “Well, yeah, that makes sense. Psychic moves are non-contact. Stuff like Hypnosis and Confusion. It must be some sort of special process that goes on in the brain, that only certain species can utilize. Otherwise all pokémon would be Psychic.”

Henry snapped his fingers. “Hey, like Byron’s Bronzor!”

“That's what I was thinking too. Remember how it used that one move and its opponents just dropped unconscious?”

Henry nodded. “Yeah! But wait… wasn’t Bronzor a Steel type? That was why Ground moves affected it. How could it use Psychic moves too?”

“Well, apparently you don’t have to be a pure Psychic pokémon to use Psychic moves. Bronzor’s a Steel pokémon, but it must also have a Psychic part that allows it to manipulate energy. That works for some other pokemon too. I think it’s called dual types.”

“Are you sure?” Henry looked to him, and Michael shrugged.

“It’s the best we’ve got.”

The boy processed this, and nodded. “Okay. But what about strengths? What’s Psychic good against?”

Michael thought back to his battle with Byron. “Well… there was this one moment when I sent out Turtwig against Bronzor. Then it just used its crazy powers and Turtwig fell flat after practically a second. As opposed to my Goldeen and your Clefairy, which held out longer. So I guess Grass must be vulnerable. We’ll have to test it somehow before the battle to be sure, though.”

Nodding, Henry added ‘Psychic’ to their compiled chart. “Okay, so it’s effective against Grass. What else? What could Psychic be vulnerable to?”

“I guess it depends what the second type of the pokémon is,” Michael said.

“But what if all of Jerry’s pokémon are pure Psychic?”

Michael puffed out his cheeks. “Then I don’t know. We’ll wing it.”

Henry nearly dropped the pencil he was holding. “But we can’t! You said that we’d be preparing!”

Michael lifted a hand to stop him. “I know, I know, I was kidding. Sheesh. I’m just tired.” He brushed his hair from his forehead. “God, all this feels like studying for final exams. Which I didn’t do, but still.” He cast his gaze over the afternoon sky, and was silent for several minutes. After some time of consideration, he stood from the bench. “I guess we should go now. I’m hungry.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The boys gathered their things. Clefairy had fallen sound asleep against Henry’s leg again, and when the boy stood, she slid off the bench and plopped into the grass. With a gasp, Henry rushed to pick her up.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” Henry scooped her into his arms and brushed a tuft of hair from her eyes. “Are you okay?”

But Clefairy didn’t seem to be paying attention. She had made no attempt to break her fall, and her eyes, still half-closed, were trailing and unfocused. She seemed caught in a dream. Michael stepped closer, and in the waning light he could see that her skin was abnormally pale, bagging beneath the eyes as if from a sleepless night. As Henry held her, the pokémon gave a soft sniff.

“Uh, Henry,” Michael said. “Your Clefairy’s sick.”

Henry’s eyes widened in alarm. “What? No she’s not.”

Michael pressed two fingers to Clefairy’s forehead. Sure enough, he could sense a feverish warmth simmering within. “Yes she is. Feel.”

Henry felt Clefairy’s forehead. The boy’s lips parted, and as if by maternal instinct, he hugged Clefairy closer.

“But she was fine two hours ago!” he protested. “She was walking right by me and everything!”

Michael shrugged. “We’ve been out in a public park for almost four days now. She probably caught it from one of the other pokémon.”

Henry looked down at his Clefairy, biting his lip. “Should we take her to the Pokémon Center?”

“Your battle’s on Monday. I sure would if I were you,” Michael said.

But Henry did not seem to have heard him—his decision was already made. The boy gathered his things, and with the ailing Clefairy in his arms, he scampered down the path. Michael rushed after him, frustrated by Henry's panicked speed.

“Relax!” he called. “Clefairy’s not going to die!”

“Just hurry!” Henry said. To the contrary, he began to run faster, the tote bag bouncing comically against his side.

They zipped their way through the park, across the road, and along the street leading to their hotel. The Pokémon Center was a separate building that stood in the same parking lot, dwarfed by its multistoried companion. By the time they arrived, blue evening had begun to cool the flaming sunset, and the Center's 24-Hour sign had been turned on, calling out to them like a shining beacon.

Michael and Henry made a loud entrance, bursting through the doors, stumbling and panting from their long run. Their arrival hardly disturbed the lobby, however, which was alive and running at an efficient, professional pace. Nurses and staff members came and went from a series of doors at the head of the room, pushing carts and carrying pokémon wrapped in blankets.

The lobby was built with trainers in mind as well, its walls and furniture accented in pink, its living room-like seating areas sporting fake flowers and large, cushioned couches. Heat therapy stations dotted the walls like soda machines, and Michael was about to pull Henry over to one, but the boy did not want to take any chances.

Henry immediately approached the front counter, where a lady sat, looking over some files. She was dressed like the other nurses, complete with the apron and cap, but her eccentricity lay in a pair of thin, zebra-striped glasses perched on her nose. When Henry arrived, the nurse looked up, immediately reading the concern on his face.

“Hello,” she said, frowning. “Is something wrong?”

“My Clefairy’s sick. She was all right this morning, but then she sort of crashed and fell asleep. She's really warm too.” Henry held up Clefairy, who in the artificial light, looked even worse than before. Her stubby ears had drooped, and she squirmed at the elevated noise level in the room.

The nurse gently took the pokémon into her arms and laid her palm against its cheek. “Yep. She has a fever. I can feel it right through here. I can run some quick tests for you to determine a possible virus.”

“Yes please,” Henry said.

The nurse nodded. “I’ll be back. Wait here.” She left the counter and disappeared behind one of the doors.

They waited for several minutes, during which Henry began to pace around the lobby, his eyes running across the walls and furniture, his fingers toying with the vases of flowers that adorned the tables. Every time a nurse or staff member would emerge from the back door with a pokémon, he turned to them with hopeful eyes, then grumblingly cast his gaze away again when he saw that it wasn’t Clefairy.

Michael was utterly puzzled by the boy’s reaction, and though he tried to put himself in Henry’s place, he couldn’t bring himself to sympathize with him. Pokémon had never been a big part of life in his family. Neither of his parents had been trainers, and the only pet Michael could ever remember having was a Glameow, which Patricia had brought in when he was five or six, probably to patch up the already-growing tensions in the household. At first, Michael’s brothers had been okay with it, and his father even offered to get up early to take it outside. But over the weeks, Andrew grew tired of the Glameow’s constant mewling and attachment to him, and Michael’s brothers complained that it was leaving claw marks all over their doors and messing through their stuff. Michael had also found the Glameow’s presence invasive, and would often enter his room to find that it had stretched itself out on his bed, its prim, slanted eyes watching him threateningly should he dare to push it off. Swayed by majority vote, Patricia grudgingly donated it to a pet store, and the Rowans never got another pokémon again.

Michael had been relieved by Glameow’s absence, and at the fact that he could sleep peacefully without worrying about claws or whipping tails. Back then, having a pokémon around was like dragging along a cinderblock wherever you went. It was an extra body to take care of, which the Rowans were simply too busy to do. And even though he was older now, Michael still held the same viewpoint. Henry, however, was nothing short of an oddity.

Michael followed the boy's confused beeline across the lobby, keeping a few paces behind him as if he were holding an invisible leash. Finally, the zebra-striped rims appeared from behind the back door, and their nurse hurried over to them, clutching Clefairy in her arms. Her face, as of yet, betrayed nothing.

Henry met her somewhat tentatively. “So what is it? Just a cold, right?”

The nurse’s face clouded. “I’m not sure. She came up negative for a bacterial infection, and we didn’t detect PokéRus. But her blood was a bit… odd. She has an unusual amount of antibodies circulating in her body right now.”

“What does that mean?” Henry said.

“Well, you know how you have lots of antibodies in your blood? They help you fight off diseases. With a human, that’s normal. But pokémon don’t get sick like we do. Their immune systems are structured differently, and they only have one main type of antibody in their blood. For them, that’s normal. When they get sick, that one type of antibody is usually enough to cover most diseases they can be affected with. But we found a second type of antibody in your Clefairy’s blood, which technically isn’t impossible, but it means that her body’s dealing with an unknown pathogen and doesn’t quite know how to attack it yet.”

“Uh-huh...” Henry nodded. His face was visibly losing color.

“We weren’t able to find the exact microbe causing it, which means that either it’s an advanced virus, or our equipment isn’t good enough to detect it. Either way, I’d recommend visiting a more advanced hospital. There are a few pokémon-specialized hospitals in Hearthome—”

“We don’t have time to visit a hospital,” Michael said. “We have a battle on Monday.”

The nurse shook her head. “Then I suggest rescheduling. I would get this Clefairy to a lab right away. She’s probably suffering from a mutated pathogen of some sort, but a specialist will be able to give you better answers. Here.” She handed Clefairy back to Henry, and Michael noticed that the boys arms were shaking.

“What’s gonna happen?” the boy looked up, his voice small.

“For now, just wait and see,” said the nurse. She pulled a small glass bottle from the pocket of her apron. “This should help with the fever. One tablespoon an hour. Other than that, my advice would be lots of water and sleep. I’d also recommend keeping her out of her pokéball for a while. I know being in containment can be really stressful on pokémon’s bodies.”

Henry took the medicine and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”

The nurse smiled warmly. She clasped her hands together and went back to the counter. Henry guided himself towards the exit, but instead of going for the doors, he veered aside and plopped down in an empty chair. Michael sat down across from him, weirded-out by the boy’s reaction.

“Look, relax,” he began. “You’re acting like you’ve gotten a statement from the morgue. I bet that nurse lady just read something wrong on her equipment, and thought it was something serious. If you ask me, she didn’t look like she knew what she was talking about at all. Clefairy will be fine.”

Henry did not seem at all comforted by Michael’s words. He sank into a long, deep silence, during which he stared mostly at his hands, unflinching as the people came and went about them. Then, finally, Henry lifted his head. “I want to go see Bertha.”

Michael blinked at this sudden pronouncement. “Why Bertha all of a sudden?”

“Because I want to go see her,” Henry repeated.

“Well, okay,” Michael said. “We’ll go see Bertha. I don’t know what good it’ll do, but sure.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “What, do you not want to see Bertha?”

“No. Who says I don’t want to see Bertha?”

“You did.”

“Why would I say that?”

“I’m asking you.”

“I told you already, it’s fine with me.”

“But you still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Henry pressed.

“And what made you think that?”

“Because you said it.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t want to,” Michael said. “I just said that I didn’t know why you wanted to see her all of a sudden, but I guess if you really want to, then we’ll go.”

“But that’s not what you meant!” said Henry with sudden anger, rising from his seat. “You said that you didn’t want to!”

Michael felt his temper flare. He gripped the arm of the couch and leaned forward. “Look, I never said that! All I said was that I didn’t know why you wanted to see her, and then you started going all ape about it and put words in my mouth! What’s your freaking bag, man?”

“I don’t have a problem! Maybe you should stop putting words in my mouth and just listen to what I’m saying, for once!”

Michael opened his mouth for a retort, when he realized that the argument was going absolutely nowhere. Michael shook his head slowly, his anger dissipating into a blank gape. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Henry blinked. Then, as if by some magic trigger, his face regained its former calm. “I guess… nothing. Never mind.” He rubbed his eyes and sat down.

“So… do you want to see Bertha or not?” Michael said carefully. “It’s up to you.”

Henry thought for a bit, then nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

With that, they left the Pokémon Center and went back to the hotel. Henry agreed to pick up some dinner first, though he insisted on avoiding the large, germ-spreading crowd at the cafeteria and eating alone. So with their take-out containers in hand, Michael and Henry marched up to Bertha’s room and knocked.

“Bertha, it’s us!” Henry said. “Can we come in?”

Michael heard a distant rustle. “Just a second!”

They waited for a moment, and then Bertha opened the door, flooding the hallway with orange light. Her curtains were drawn, and the usually tidy room she kept was now slightly disheveled. The beds and table were piled high with clothing of all sorts, making the space look like a colorful whirlpool. Empty shopping bags were stuffed into the corner.

Michael was the first to comment, lifting an eyebrow. “What’s with the new decor?”

Bertha smiled somewhat sheepishly as she guided them inside. “I did some shopping in my free time. I figured that while summer lasts, I might as well take advantage of city department stores.” Coming around to one of the beds, she lifted a white sundress and held it against her frame. “Would this look all right on me? I think it’s too low-cut, but the color’s nice. You don’t see a lot of white these days.”

Michael nodded. “It looks fine.” As he heard himself say this, he couldn’t help but chuckle. His own mother had been a splurge-shopper, and in her frequent swings of mood and taste, she would end up returning nearly half of what she had bought, resulting in piles and piles of receipts on their counter.

As he and Henry sat down at the two-person table in the corner, food containers and all, Bertha sorted through a few more items. “I bought stuff for you boys too,” she said. Bertha showed a couple of tye-dye shirts to Michael and a pair of plain pants. For Henry, she laid out a similar outfit, only one of the shirts featured a pokéball. Michael was surprised at Bertha’s well-picked assortment for him, though his gut instinct was to shake his head.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said.

Bertha shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to say thanks for putting up with me all this time. I know it can be annoying to tug along a third wheel wherever you go, especially someone like me who’s got her own agenda. And plus, those pants will look much more decent on you than jeans. Just sayin’.” She smiled.

Henry didn’t comment on his gifts, but smiled somberly and placed Clefairy in his lap. Bertha looked up at him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t seem like yourself.” She came around and kneeled beside the bed.

“My Clefairy’s sick,” Henry replied. “The nurse at the Pokémon Center said that there was some sort of problem with her antibodies… that there were too many or something. And now I’m not sure if she’ll get better.” He sighed.

Bertha knit her eyebrows. “May I?” Henry nodded, and she scooped Clefairy into her arms. The pokémon squirmed, but for the most part lay still as she stroked its head. “Mmm. Poor thing…When my pokémon were sick my mom always made them tea to help them sleep. I’d do it for you guys now, but I don’t have anything to brew.”

“That’s okay,” Henry mumbled.

Bertha looked at them, and their unopened containers of food. “You boys can eat here if you want. I don’t mind. I could use the company.”

Henry smiled gratefully. Bertha pulled up an extra chair for herself and set Clefairy down in her lap. Michael and Henry ate their food, and she watched them, occasionally giving Clefairy a rub on the head, which always made the pokémon giggle, snorting softly through her stuffy nose. It was almost like they were seated at Bertha’s dinner table again, and though the surroundings were different, Michael still felt oddly at home. Even Clefairy looked somewhat happy, and seemed to regain some of her former playfulness as Bertha cooed to her.

“You know, I wouldn’t worry too much about what that nurse told you,” Bertha said to Henry. “I’ve been around pokémon for my whole life, and I’ve seen it all. They bounce back from sicknesses even better than we do, sometimes.”

Henry shrugged. “The nurse said that it was something she had never seen before, and that I had to take her to a hospital and get her tested. But I really don’t want to.”

Michael nodded his agreement. If they were to start hunting for hospitals now, then it would throw their whole schedule off track. He didn’t even want to think about what Henry would say if those tests came out bad as well. Thankfully, though, the boy did not seem to need convincing.

“I hate hospitals,” Henry continued. “They scare me. And the doctors are always so unfriendly.”

Bertha laughed. “My grandma always said that the best doctor is joy and good company. Though that was way back when. Medicine’s gotten much more respectable now. I’d say there’s nothing wrong with getting professional advice, as long as you’re smart about it.”

Henry bobbed his head slowly in a nod. “Yeah. But… what about our battle? I don’t want to make Michael miss his just because of me. We’ve been practicing really well so far.”

Both Henry and Bertha turned to Michael, eyeing him tentatively as if unsure of his reaction. Michael tilted his head to the side as he pieced together an answer. “Well, we could always reschedule, like the nurse said. I mean, it doesn’t really matter if we stay for an extra day or two in Hearthome.”

“Wow, Michael,” Henry said. “You’d do that?”

“Sure…” Michael felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, and he suddenly wondered what consequences he would suffer from what he had just said. Still, he figured it was better to travel with a happy Henry than a neurotic one. And the extra days would give him more time to polish his knowledge about Psychic types… right?

Henry’s eyes were beginning to widen with surprised gratitude, so Michael looked away. Bertha tapped her fingers on the table, and nodded.

“That sounds like a plan,” she said. “But I don’t like the idea of you boys putting off your battle for too long. Spots in Hearthome fill up pretty quick, and you don’t often see trainers rescheduling. I think we should devote some time tomorrow to ask Jerry if he has any other days available that we can reserve just in case. I’ll have to tweak my own schedule if we’re going to stay here a bit longer than planned—”

“No, don’t!” Henry blurted. He was blushing from embarrassment. “It’s okay, you don’t have to. I’ll just be messing everything up now.”

“No,” Bertha said, lowering her hand onto the table. “You have a sick pokémon that needs to get better. That’s just as important as any battle or petition. We’re not talking about weeks here, only an extra few days in the city. It won’t kill anyone. So don’t worry about us.”

Henry looked at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze. “Okay... Thanks, Bertha.”

Bertha’s expression softened. “No problem. Now you boys should go get some rest. I can see you’re both tired.”

Michael rose from his chair and yawned. “All right. Let’s go, Henry.” He took his emptied take-out container with him and dropped it into the trash can. Bertha handed Clefairy back to Henry, and after sharing a few good-byes, the boys left the room.



//////



Michael woke up in the middle of the night with a mild headache and a sour mood. His pillow was bunched up against the headboard, and his blanket was sliding off the edge of the bed, leaving one half of him exposed to the evening chill. With a grunt, he sat up to make the necessary adjustments, his tired mind swarming with fragmented thoughts.

In the neighboring bed, Henry was sound asleep. Moonlight was spilling into the space between them, illuminating the TV, and the shadowed pictures framed on the walls. Michael had crashed to sleep at around eleven, while Henry had chosen to stay up to look after Clefairy. He had fashioned an entire shelter for her, complete with a mattress made out of shirts, a cup of cool water, and some toys in case she got lonely. The last thing Michael saw was the boy taking out the pumice stone and playing a sort of baby-catch game with Clefairy, but after that, he had been too tired to keep his eyes open.

And now, he couldn’t sleep.

Michael’s annoyance at himself faded into dull acceptance as he sank back into his pillow. He heard a cough and a scuffle from nearby. Apparently someone else wasn’t getting their sleep either.

As Michael began to close his eyes again, trying to latch onto what remained of his fading dreams, he heard a loud thump. His eyes flew open, and he looked around. Henry was as still as ever, but the pile of clothing on the table had unraveled, and was now on the floor. In the weak light, Michael saw a round, pale shape stumble around on the carpet, blindly crawling away from the table.

Great. Perfect. With a disgruntled sigh, he lowered himself back down again, pulling the covers over his head. But then he felt a tiny pang of guilt, and with another groan, brought himself out of bed, dropping onto all fours on the carpet.

“Here, Clefairy,” Michael whispered, crawling half-blindly after the pokémon. “Come ‘ere. That’s it.”

He held out his hands, and when the Clefairy noticed his presence, a shudder ran through its body. As it backed away from him, the moonlight caught its face, bringing a pale, eerie flash to its eyes. Michael advanced further, his frustration climbing.

“Come on. To me, Clefairy. To me.”

The Clefairy continued to back away, and he continued to follow, forming a slow, annoying cycle in the center of the room. Michael found himself being oddly considerate of his sleeping roommate, muffling his movements and trying not to bump into anything, but as a result, his reflexes were sluggish and imprecise. When Michael’s patience finally wore thin, he made a blind lunge for the Clefairy, but the pokémon skipped out of the way with surprising agility. Michael fell flat on his stomach. The pokémon ran a few more steps, then stumbled drunkenly and fell down as well.

Michael scrambled to lift himself. The Clefairy regained its footing and continued to walk. It disappeared behind his bed, then came out again, looking even more haggard than before. The pokémon did not seem to have a particular destination in mind; it simply moped about like a zombie, arms scabbing at its body.

A sudden idea sprang to the forefront of Michael’s mind. He turned back to the table and grabbed the small black stone, and held it out to the Clefairy, putting on the best playful-child smile he could manage.

“Come on, Clefairy. Want to play? Come on. Look, I have your favorite toy right here. Right here, that’s it…” He found the Clefairy, who was currently backed up against the wall, one arm holding the surface behind it for support and the other clutching its stomach, in a comical posture of nausea.

Michael got down on his knees again and waved the stone around, and the Clefairy’s glittering eyes found his for a moment. Sniffling, the pokémon flinched away, and Michael’s smile turned into a snarl. “Ugh. Come on, Clefairy! Just get over here! Get over here, you little—”

Michael made to push himself forward, when he realized that he was leaning as far as his position would allow. Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over him, Michael instead sat back down on his knees. What was he doing? Getting carried away again, that was what. If Clefairy wanted to produce a giant vomit-puddle on the carpet, that was fine with him. He’d deal with it when he woke up.

Michael rubbed his eyes again. Beside him, Clefairy let out a whimper. “Argh, whatever. Play with this.” He tossed the stone.

It fell about a foot away from Clefairy’s feet, but when he heard the resulting shriek, Michael whipped back around, afraid for a moment that he had hit it.

In a way, he had.

The Clefairy was doubled over now, staggering from a series of violent convulsions that were shaking its body. Any moment now, it would start blowing chunks.

As the Clefairy fell away from the wall and stumbled forward, Michael backed away by instinct, too stunned or amazed to tear away his gaze. The Clefairy came to a halt in a patch of moonlight cast upon the carpet, and by then, Michael’s back was pressed up against the side of his bed. The pokémon let out a horrible retching sound, but nothing came out. Instead, it seemed to shrink, balling itself up and lying on its side like a withered prune.

And then it grew.

The change was like an explosion, swift and graceful like a flower blooming at high-speed. The Clefairy’s torso inflated like a fuzzy balloon, and all at once, the structures and appendages on its body began to morph of their own accord. Limbs thickened, ears lengthened and sharpened like carrot sticks, and the tiny comma of a tail blew up to the size of a soccer ball. On its back, a pair of new, tiny stubs sprouted out of its back like little knobs, then unfurled into a pair of pink cupid wings. The pokemon turned and wrenched with the force of the shakes, every angle bringing a new glimpse of a body that was tweaking itself like a machine, grinding gears and turning switches.

When it was over, the quakes subsided, and the final fragments of the transformation fell into place. The tiny tuft of hair between the pokémon’s ears grew into a neat, single curl, and its eyes, which had been baggy and congested only moments before, now rounded against smooth, dimpled skin.

With calm lucidity, the pokémon slowly uncurled itself from its slouched position, swaying a little with its unfamiliar height. All traces of sickness had faded from its appearance. The silver light of the moon traced its full silhouette, its no-longer-stubby legs, round belly, and pointed ears. Suddenly one of them flicked, and the pokémon turned to Michael, casting him a knowing sort of smile.

It was only then that Michael became aware that he was gaping like an idiot, eyes bulging out of their sockets, hands slack at his sides.

Roughly a minute later, he found his voice.

“Whoa.”

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ October 31st, 2011 5:05 AM

Quote:

because nobody in their right mind would walk around with a wimpy Clefairy.
Replace "Clefairy" with "Pikachu" and there's my opinion right there. I'm looking at you, Mr. I-Live-In-Mount-Silver-And-Operate-A-Meth-Lab-There-When-Not-Getting-Pwned-Because-My-Team-Sucks-Due-To-My-Ugly-Rat *end rant*

Quote:

Bertha showed a couple of tye-dye shirts to Michael and a pair of plain pants.
I KNEW there was a bit of hippie in Bertha after all :)

Well now, this looks like it could be a game-changer, and in more ways than one.
(1) Michael discovers stone evolution (if he realizes that the stone is what triggered the process, that is)
(2) Henry's reaction in the morning when his former Clefairy is now bigger and tougher
(3) How this evolution will play a factor in Henry's match against Jerry
(4) Evolution apparently auto-heals sickness and infections in Pokemon?

As for (2) I'm still unsure at how Henry's gonna react... whether he'll think it''s totally awesome or whether he'll be all "MICHAEL! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CLEFAIRY?!?!" Given their shouting match in the center, and the fact that evolution is still a relatively inknown process, he could go either way... maybe thinking the illness mutated it or something.

Well, I guess we'll be waiting till next chapter to find that out. I'll be looking forward to that!

Haruka of Hoenn October 31st, 2011 11:37 AM

Quote:

Replace "Clefairy" with "Pikachu" and there's my opinion right there. I'm looking at you, Mr. I-Live-In-Mount-Silver-And-Operate-A-Meth-Lab-There-When-Not-Getting-Pwned-Because-My-Team-Sucks-Due-To-My-Ugly-Rat *end rant*
Attention all Pikachu haters: You will love Chapter 20. That's all I'm saying for now...

Quote:

Well now, this looks like it could be a game-changer, and in more ways than one.
(1) Michael discovers stone evolution (if he realizes that the stone is what triggered the process, that is)
(2) Henry's reaction in the morning when his former Clefairy is now bigger and tougher
(3) How this evolution will play a factor in Henry's match against Jerry
(4) Evolution apparently auto-heals sickness and infections in Pokemon?

For #4, the evolution was what was causing Clefairy's sickness. I'll explain it more next chapter; this one was more for showing than telling.

As for your other points, they will also be addressed in either 20 or 21. I'm expecting to have at least Henry's battle in 20, then maybe Michael's in 21.

Thanks for the review :)

Haruka of Hoenn December 9th, 2011 4:20 PM

This chapter was another challenge, both in content and in formatting. After doing quite a bit of thinking, I’ve resolved to split it into two parts again. They're both somewhat long, and in theory I could have made them two different chapters, but since they share a common theme, it would be more appropriate to keep them under one heading. Plus, you’ll get to see the Gym battle now instead of having to wait. I know I don’t like waiting. :P

So, without further ado… Chapter 20.

2.0

“Wake up! WAKE UP!”

A bag of feathers hit Henry over the head with a whump. At first, the boy did not stir, still drifting in dismembered thoughts. Then the blow came a second time, shattering his concentration on sleep and forcing him into awareness. Groaning, Henry pushed himself up and rubbed open his eyes.

Michael was standing beside his bed, still in his nightclothes, clutching a pillow. At the sight of his friend, Henry felt a flicker of irrational panic. “Oh my gosh, the battle!” He bolted up. “Is it today? Did I oversleep?”

“No,” Michael said. “We still have three days. I just wanted to let you know that your Clefairy passed away last night.”

“WHAT?!” Henry sprang to his feet. Almost unconsciously he grabbed hold of Michael’s shoulders. “You’re lying, it’s not funny! What did you do?”

Michael shook his head, his expression blank. “I tried to save her, but I guess I was too late. She’s gone.”

“No!” Henry pushed Michael with all his might, causing him to collide with the wardrobe. Michael dropped the pillow in surprise, but he was smiling, and when Henry began to shake him all the harder, his grin broadened. With ease, Michael pushed Henry’s arms away and sprang back towards the TV, out of Henry’s reach. “I’m telling the truth,” he said. “Clefairy’s gone. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Henry stiffened, clenching his fists at his sides. He felt a sting of shock pass over his face, then warm welling tears. “You’re lying, Michael Rowan! You’re lying!” He bit his lip. As much as he did not want the tears to fall, the urge was already beginning to overpower him.

“I told you, I’m not. If you really want to know, it happened at around midnight, while you were still asleep. I decided to wait before telling you.”

Henry gritted his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“She was a good Clefairy,” Michael continued gravely. “Brave and loyal…”

“NO! SHUT UP! I’M TELLING YOU, STOP IT!—” Henry screamed, but his throat closed up before he could say more. One more word, and he would lose it.

“But hey, don’t sweat it.” Michael gave Henry an amiable pat on the shoulder. “You know what they say—life’s short. I guess Clefairy’s time was up, that’s all.”

Henry scrunched up his face and let out a low croon. Tears began to spill down his cheeks in powerful gobs, and through the blur of water and wails, he failed to see that Michael had retreated into the bathroom and come out with something in his arms.

“But Clefable seems to be feeling fine, on the other hand.”

Henry’s wails increased, then suddenly Michael thrust something into his arms. It was big and pink and furry.

“Wha… what?” Henry blinked. He was holding a pokémon. Its body was large and angular, and it had big, long ears and arms. At the first glance, the creature held no familiarity for him. But, taking a closer look, Henry realized that the old dimpled cheeks were still there… as were the round, soft eyes that had so often stared into his.

As he blinked away his tears, the pokémon’s thin mouth slowly spread into a smile. It lifted its tiny hands, holding on to Henry's arms with a reassuring, almost welcoming grip.

“… Clefairy?” Henry lifted the pokémon to eye level. There could be no mistaking it. He turned back to Michael, floored with disbelief. “Michael! How…?”

Michael smiled again. “That rock you brought back wasn’t a pumice stone. It was a freaking catalyst. You should’ve seen it!” He spread his arms out wide in a demonstration of hugeness. “Clefairy grew like three times her size in less than ten seconds.”

Henry let out a laugh, more out of relief than amazement. He wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, now feeling slightly foolish for crying. He fluffed Clefable’s pointy ears and brushed his fingers through the comma of pink hair, amazed at the effects of the transformation. As he did, Henry felt a growing sense of puzzlement. “But I—I don’t get it...” He turned to Michael. “What did you see? What exactly happened?”

“It was about the middle of the night,” Michael said. “She fell down from her table, and I started trying to catch her, you know, so I could put her back. Then I got the stone, and I sort of accidentally threw it… and then she just started spazzing out like she was having a seizure. Then she grew. She evolved into Clefable.” He cracked a smile again. “It was wicked cool.”

Henry frowned. “But how is that possible? My grandma had a bunch of Clefairies and they never evolved. Plus, Clefairy and Clefable are two different species. How could one just change all of a sudden?”

“Two different species don’t look similar just for the heck of it,” Michael said. “I think I’ve figured it out.” He took the pumice stone from the nightstand and held it up. “This thing, I don’t know how, must have caused Clefairy to transform. It wasn’t a typical evolution because it wasn’t tied in with Clefairy’s normal growth. That’s probably why she started getting sick yesterday. You kept the stone, and being near it made something in her internal chemistry wig out.”

Henry took this in, and frowned. “Hey! That’s probably why that trainer kid threw it at me! He must have known it would get Clefairy sick and thought it would be funny to play a joke on someone!”

Michael laughed. “Who cares? That flake probably picked it up on the street because he thought it looked cool. Just think—think of what we could do with this!” He held up the stone and examined it in the light. “I bet we could evolve anything!”

Hearing his friend’s astounding words, Henry looked down at his pokémon. Clefable. She was one of his first, given to him by his Kanto-residing grandmother as an infant Cleffa. He had raised her all by himself, watching her grow in size and personality, until she matured into Clefairy. He knew little about Clefables, only that they resided in a secluded mountain in Kanto called Mt. Moon. He had noticed their similar appearances from pictures before, but he had never considered that there might have been a connection between them.

Henry looked back at the pumice stone, and suddenly, something clicked. He gasped. “Michael!”

“What?”

“Bertha’s Roselia! You don’t think that that’s what happened to her, do you?”

Michael stared at him for a few seconds, eyes widening. “Only one way to find out. Let’s go.”



//////



After leaving Clefable and the still-sleeping Stunky with some food, the boys rushed over to Bertha’s door and knocked. The Gym leader emerged, already in day clothes, looking rather surprised to see them. “Boys? What are you doing up so early?”

“We need to ask you a question,” Michael said. Bertha stepped aside, and they hurried over to the two-person table, occupying the same places as the previous night. Michael kept tapping his hand on his knee, and Henry too seemed to find it hard to mask his anxiousness. Bertha sat down on the bed across from them, already looking perplexed at their strange behavior.

“All right. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Your Roselia,” Michael said.

Bertha’s eyebrows climbed. “Rose? What for?”

Michael tapped his fingers together. “You said that you just found her one day when she had transformed… right?”

“Uh-huh.” Bertha nodded, still somewhat guardedly.

“How exactly did it happen? Did you see any part of it, or did you just find her like that?”

“Hm. I’m not sure I remember much about it. All I know is that I had this really pretty ring…” Bertha pursed her lips, and a reproachful edge crept into her voice. “And for the life of me, I couldn’t find it. I thought I had left it on my nightstand, but it wasn’t there when I checked, or in my purse, or the bathroom, or anywhere. I remember I was looking for it that whole week, and then on one of those days Rose changed.”

“Did she get sick?” Henry asked.

“She did, but only a little. She was perfectly fine when I took her out of her pokéball to feed her that one morning, but then I saw that she had already changed.”

“What did the ring look like?” said Michael.

Bertha’s gaze trailed off for a moment, tracing the bumps in the ceiling. “It was made of silver. The band was cut to look like a thread of leaves, almost. The stone was nice too. It was a light green, almost white, and always looked like it had just been polished. It went with almost any outfit, and that’s why I liked it so much. But then I lost it.” Her gaze fell back to Michael, and she folded her hands in her lap.

Michael and Henry exchanged a glance, and Michael took the stone out from his pocket. “So the rock didn’t look anything like this?”

Bertha’s eyes widened in surprise. “Whoa. Where’d you get that?” She reached for it, and Michael placed it into her palm.

“We found it in Amity Square,” he said.

Bertha traced the stone’s pocked, chiseled surface with her fingers. In the bright sunlight, the rock’s edges gave off a purplish glow. “Well, I can say for sure that I’ve never seen anything like this before. It definitely doesn’t look like something that would be lying around in a park, though. It looks like it came from somewhere in the mountains.” She handed it back to Michael, and sat still for a moment, watching the boy’s unchanging expressions. “So, is there anything else? Have I helped?”

Michael shook his head. “Thanks anyway, Bertha. We have to go.”

They got up, and leaving Bertha somewhat confused, they left the room. In the hallway, Michael pocketed the stone again. “So this definitely wasn’t what made her Roselia evolve… but then what did?”

“Maybe it had something to do with the ring,” Henry offered.

“Could be. But we can’t know for sure until we test it, and that would be impossible now.”

They went back to their room and got ready for breakfast. After a nondescript meal, Michael pushed open a side door to take a shortcut, and found himself crossing through an outdoor patio. In a normal hotel, such an area would have contained a pool and snack bar, but here, the hotel had set up an outdoor battle area. It resembled less of a school backyard, as Oreburgh’s had, and more of an uppity resort club. Two concrete arenas were laid out side-by-side, bordered by palm trees and patio tables with umbrellas. Trainers of all ages congregated together, some battling, and others idly standing by.

Michael kept to the main path, mildly surveying the crowd, but midway he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned around to Henry. “What?”

“It’s him! That’s the kid from Amity Square!” Henry pointed over to the edge of the nearby arena, where a boy was leaning against the trunk of a palm tree. From this distance, Michael couldn’t make much of him: The boy’s hands were stuffed into the pockets of his pants, and his hair puffed out in curls from beneath his cap.

Michael smiled. “You got your pokémon with you?”

“Yeah, I always have them with me,” Henry said, shifting his tote bag.

“Then let’s go have a little talk. Come on.” Michael pulled Henry after him and led him over to the tree.

The trainer kid didn’t notice their arrival. He kept staring off into the distance, though he looked more vacant than cool, like a strange fellow at a bus stop. He looked to be around Henry’s age.

Michael stopped a few feet away and cleared his throat. “Hey. How’s it going?”

The kid looked up. “Oh. Hey.” He lifted his cap, peering through the tufts of hair to get a better look at his visitors. When the kid saw Henry, a flash of recognition passed over his face, and he jumped back against the tree. The cap’s visor fell awkwardly over his eyes and he pushed it back up as he groped for balance. “You again!” he said. “What, here for a battle? Little baby got his feelings hurt?”

Michael stood still against the trainer’s attempted taunts. He felt Henry shift beside him, and saw the boy’s hand tighten around his pokéball pouch, but Michael stopped him with a light tap on the arm.

“My buddy here didn’t like what you said about his Clefairy,” he continued to the trainer, still keeping a conversational tone. “They’re really close, you see. He’s had that pokémon ever since he was little.”

The trainer’s lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, little baby’s still walking around with his mummy’s Clefairy?”

Henry took a step forward, but Michael held him back. This seemed to boost the trainer’s confidence ever so slightly, and he stepped away from the tree, into the full sun. “So what are you gonna do about it? You wanna start something?” He pounded his fists together.

“That’s what he was about to do,” Michael said, before Henry could interrupt, “but now that he’s taken a second look at you he’s realized that it’s not worth the bother.”

Henry pushed against Michael’s grip. “Get off me!” he grunted. “I can take this kid!”

But Michael did not let go. The trainer, hearing Henry’s protest, broadened his grin and beckoned. “Come on! Why don’t you stop hiding behind your friend there and face me like a real trainer? You scared? I wouldn’t be surprised... sissy little fink that you are.”

With a final lunge, Henry pulled away from Michael’s grasp. Michael gave way willingly and stepped back a few feet. Henry ran up to the trainer till they were only inches apart. “You and me. One on one.”

The trainer smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

From his place behind them, Michael crossed his arms. His work here was done.

Henry and the trainer stormed to the center of the battlefield, the other kids willingly clearing the way for them. Henry took his place at one end, the trainer kid at the other, and instantly all around them the crowd began to shift. Michael backed away into the sidelines, sitting down at a spare table, and felt a series of jolts as several others ran around to join him.

When he was able to see the battlefield whole again, he saw Henry and his opponent draw out their pokémon simultaneously. Henry sent out Clefable, and his opponent sent out what appeared to be a strange, engorged bug. The pokémon had a thin, wiry body, six tendril-like legs, and a bulbous head with two eyes that stared in opposite directions. Its wings thrummed as it zipped through the air, adjusting its altitude with minute precision. Michael silently cursed his luck. He had absolutely no idea what the pokémon was, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything that lived in Sinnoh.

He must be from another country… He looked at the trainer again. That was the only logical explanation. Taking Bertha’s words into account, the stone could either have come from the mountains or from a different region entirely. And the trainer kid didn’t look like much of a mountaineer (heck, a tiny hiking trail could have probably finished him), so the most likely explanation was the latter. This conclusion only heightened Michael’s interest.

He watched as Henry shouted his first command, Quick Attack. With a speed that was surprising for her size, Clefable sprang forward and dashed towards the flying bug, eyes narrowed into slits against the rush of air. The trainer kid smiled, directing his pointer finger towards the sky.

“Yanma, Ancientpower!”

Still in the air, the flying bug rolled over onto its back, revealing a tiny network of veins in its wings and abdomen. It curled its tail into a ‘C’, and instantly, a shimmer of green coursed through the fine lines, like a neon light. Simultaneously the ground beneath it cracked.

Michael rose from his chair, and peered along with the swelling crowd as the cracks deepened into fissures, carving out three huge blocks of concrete from the floor. The blocks rose into the air, and one by one, hurled themselves at the speeding Clefable.

Henry clenched his fist. “Clefable, dodge!”

But the pokémon seemed to be doing fine on her own. Clefable skirted out of the way of the first boulder, and evaded the second one with a daring sideways leap. She kept running, dashing straight into the path of the third one. When it looked like the boulder would hit her smack in the face, Clefable jumped, the pads of her feet barely gracing its surface as she let the boulder roll past her. A loud cheer rose out from the crowd, and Henry beamed.

The trainer with the Yanma grit his teeth at the charging Clefable. “Use Wing Attack!”

A loud buzz issued from the Yanma’s wings as it descended. It hovered above the ground for a moment, then with a powerful exertion, swept its wings forward, stirring up a powerful gust. The wind blew around Clefable, but though she stumbled and staggered back, she did not lose her footing.

The gust died down, and Yanma drew back its wings to send the next one. During the pause, Clefable managed to claw her way forward, then ducked her head as the wind again assailed her. Yanma sent several more attacks in this fashion, which Clefable endured with a resolve that was completely unlike the plump, bumbling Clefairy she had been before. She kept going, till she finally crossed the distance between them, and lifted her lengthened claws to swipe at Yanma.

With a jeering buzz, the Yanma glided high out of reach before Clefable could touch it. Frustrated, Clefable began to jump, trying to grab hold of the Yanma’s slender, swooshing tail, which dangled beneath it every time the pokémon turned. When Clefable’s fingers would creep up on the forked edge, the Yanma would flap faster and ascend. Then, as Clefable ran around beneath it, the Yanma would dip temptingly low again, and let the same thing happen. All the while, Clefable remained helplessly trapped below, at a loss for what to do.

As he watched this useless stalemate, a sneer crept into the trainer kid’s face. “Swing it back!” he called to his pokémon. “Tail Whip!”

Flying a safe few yards away from Clefable, Yanma dropped lower than ever, lifting its tail. Seeing that her opponent was once again within reach, Clefable began to charge, arms outstretched. She advanced upon the Yanma, who was tapping the ground with the head of its tail like a baseball player, and Michael tensed in preparation for the collision.

Seconds later, a shrilling cry rang out through the arena. But it wasn’t Clefable’s.

Michael opened his eyes the rest of the way and leaned forward, trying to register what had happened. Instead of being hit like a playground ball, Clefable had somehow managed to grab hold of Yanma’s tail mid-swing, and was now hanging on tight while the Yanma thrashed about in the air, trying to shake her off. Henry and his opponent were both watching, mouths hanging open.

As Yanma twisted and flipped, Clefable kept a tight grip on the edge of its tail, her feet sliding off the ground as she tried in vain to keep her footing. With the Yanma pulling her to and fro, she he resembled a water skier. With a powerful tug, Clefable pulled Yanma out of the air and hit the bug against the ground. But a second later, Yanma picked itself up and swung back in a different direction, pulling Clefable along with it.

“Get it into the air! Use Fly!” shouted the trainer kid.

“Clefable, don’t let it!” Henry countered. “Wake-Up-Slap!”

Clefable pulled herself forward, clawing her way up the Yanma’s tail. The panicked bug began to flap its wings even faster, till they were reduced to twin silver blurs, and Michael heard what seemed like the roar of helicopter blades in their wake. The force of the wind instantly propelled both Yanma and Clefable into the air, and sent a powerful downdraft sweeping through the battlefield.

All around them, people raised their arms over their faces and backed away. A pokéball flag that stood nearby changed directions, and tiny pebbles that had been loosed by Ancientpower now scattered towards the neighboring buildings. Michael hung on to the edges of his table, trying to keep steady as the umbrella creaked and flapped.

Yanma and Clefable ascended higher and higher, till they were skimming above the treetops, their conjoined silhouette blotting out the sun. Henry had been knocked flat on his bottom, as had his opponent, and both boys were now squinting up at the sky, the wind rippling their hair and clothes. The cap had flown from the trainer kid’s head, letting the full mass of his hair splay around his face. The kid cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a bellow.

“Yanma! Use Slash!”

The pokémon didn’t seem to have heard him. Henry shouted up at Clefable, but his voice too was lost in the roar of raging wind. Either Clefable would let go, or Yanma would plummet from exhaustion.

Ducking against the forceful wind, Michael pushed himself away from the table and made his way to the edge of the battlefield as far as his legs would allow. He bent his head back and looked up at the pokémon, who had settled into an impasse, neither rising nor sinking. Clefable’s panicked eyes darted across various points on the ground, probably searching for the softest spot to land on. Yanma gave another jerk, and Clefable seemed to slip a little, but held fast. Her eyes slammed shut. Catching on, Henry scrambled to his feet, running around with his arms out in hopes of catching her.

“Clefable, go!” he called. “Let go! I’ll catch you!”

“No!” The trainer kid jumped up, his expression livid. “Yanma, use Slash! SLASH!” He made a swift swiping gesture with his arm. Yanma buzzed in return.

With a sharp flick, Yanma tossed Clefable off of its tail and into the air. For a split second, Clefable hung there, and the ends of Yanma’s tail glittered a hard, polished silver like a cutting blade. Henry let out a wordless exclamation as the tail swung out at Clefable, making to slice her body from the side. But at that moment, Clefable’s eyes flew open, and to Michael’s shock, he saw that they were a blazing pink.

What?!

Before he had time to think, Michael felt a tremendous weight press down upon him, as if someone had dropped an iron vest around his shoulders. His legs gave way beneath him, and with a hard thump, he fell flat against the concrete. Henry and his opponent dropped down likewise, as did the other trainers around them, like so many dominos scattered around a table. Michael was on his back now, his heart pounding in response to the sudden pressure, his skin crawling both hot and cold at the same time. He could barely move. The noises around him swelled into an indecipherable blur, and red spots ran across his vision.

After a few seconds of bewilderment, the pressure faded, and Michael felt a small sigh escape him. He lifted himself, looking around to see what had happened. Henry and his opponent were also recovering from the impact.

At the center of the arena were Clefable and Yanma, still lying flat where they had fallen. The Yanma’s body was draped over Clefable’s, its wings twitching infrequently. Clefable groped weakly for a handhold as she tried to pull free of the dead weight on top of her. Her eyes were half-closed, as if the attack had taken a considerable amount of energy.

In the midst of his scrambled thoughts, it took a while for Michael to realize that the courtyard had gone completely silent. Clefable’s attack had considerably damaged their side of the area: umbrellas hung broken over tables, signs and trash cans were dented, and the flagpole was slightly stooped. A kite that had been flying from one of the overlooking balconies was hanging limp from its string. The other half of the courtyard, in contrast, looked exactly as it had ten minutes ago.

Clefable finally managed to pull free, and scampered over to Henry. The trainer kid didn’t respond to his fallen Yanma, but rather watched as the pokémon weakly lolled about, as if bewildered that such a thing could ever happen.

All around them, the other trainers were whispering. Many of them scurried away, but as Henry pocketed the pokéball, he made to approach his opponent. Michael followed him. The trainer’s expression remained neutral as Henry arrived first, hands on hips.

“Well?” Henry said. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

The trainer met his gaze. “No.”

Michael stepped forward. “Where did you get the stone?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m serious, you little dweeb. Tell me!”

A smile curled the boy’s lips, but he remained silent. Michael bent down beside him and grabbed his arm, jerking him up till their faces were level. “I can knock out the rest of your pokémon if you want!”

Panic flashed in the boy’s eyes, and he lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I went with my parents to a museum back in Kanto. They gave us free samples.”

“Free samples of what?”

“I don’t know. They said it was called a moonstone or something… Brought it all the way over from the mountains and they were just giving them out like free candy. I—I kept mine, but I didn’t want it anymore, so —”

“So you threw it at my Clefairy?” Henry said.

“I’m sorry!” the kid blurted. “Okay? I was just playing. And it’s not like your Clefairy got hurt or anything. I mean, nothing happened to him, right?”

Henry jolted forward, but Michael held him back. He looked down at the trainer with a neutral expression. “Just don’t mess with us, and we won’t mess with you. Got it?”

The trainer grumbled. Michael took it as a yes.

Henry returned Clefable to her pokéball, and immediately started towards the side gate. Michael followed, ignoring the passing gasps and remarks of the trainers in the crowd. None of them stopped to talk however; they merely parted way as Michael and Henry passed, then continued their hushed conversations.

Stepping through the gate, Michael let it swing closed behind him. They were now on a quiet, unpaved path that led back to the hotel rooms. It was only when they were finally safe of any possible scrutiny that Henry stopped and took a breath.

“Whew. I thought we’d never get out of there.” He adjusted the strap of his bag and wiped his forehead. Biting his lip, he took a quick glance in the direction of the patio. “We sure made a mess back there. Do you think I should’ve told a staff member or something?”

“No. Why?”

“I’m just saying. They might be surprised when they go outside and see three big holes in the ground.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Okay, first of all, that wasn’t your fault. And second of all—man!” He grinned. “That was amazing! Your Clefable was totally boss! She beat that Yanma in three minutes flat! Do you know what that means?”

Henry’s cheeks flushed with pride, but he shook his head. “No. What?”

“It means that whatever that morphing was last night, it was a good thing. That rock you found—that moonstone, whatever it was—makes pokémon stronger! It’s the freaking key to all our problems! Think about it: if we could just expose it to all our other pokémon, we could beat Jerry and every other leader in Sinnoh.”

“But wouldn’t someone have figured that out already?” Henry said. “I mean, it’s not like we’re the only people in Sinnoh who have it.”

“Oh come on, didn’t you hear the kid? He brought it all the way from Kanto. And even then, he probably didn’t know what it could do, otherwise he wouldn’t have thrown it away like that. But now, we know what it does. And we’ve gotta put the knowledge to use.” Michael patted his pocket. “I’m gonna test it on my pokémon now. Maybe it’ll do something for them too.”

When they arrived back at their room, he released all his pokémon and gathered them in between the beds. It was somewhat of a mess, and the pokémon greeted him with varying displays of content and confusion, filling the room with garbled noise. Michael took the moonstone from his pocket and tossed it at the group.

“Here. Play with this.”

The stone landed in front of Turtwig, who backed away several steps. Then, ever so slowly, he pushed it with his snout. Caterpie immediately curled herself into a ball, hiding from view, while Machop lifted the stone and turned it over in his hands. Michael nodded. “Yep. Take your time.”

Henry sent out his pokémon as well, and they spend the next fifteen minutes feeding them all. The span of time passed, but still none of Michael’s pokémon showed any special interest in the moonstone. As a last resort, he picked up the stone and held it out to Stunky, wiggling it around the cage in what he hoped was a tempting way. The pokémon was resting on its belly, and seemed reluctant to leave its position, so it turned its head away. Michael lowered his arm. “I don’t get it. Why isn’t it working?”

Henry, who had seated himself at the desk, looked over. “It probably takes time,” he said. “Clefairy only got sick by the end of the day.”

Michael flipped the moonstone over in his hands for a bit, then set it down on the nightstand. “Okay, then we’ll wait. But don’t put it away. Just let them be exposed for a while.”

Henry nodded, and began to turn the pages of his planner. Clefable went over to him, and he lifted her into his lap, hugging her close. With his free hand, Henry traced his finger down to the current date. “The battle’s only three days from now. What are we going to do? Will we practice some more?”

“Definitely,” Michael said. “For one thing, we’ve gotta test Clefable.”

At this, Clefable turned to look at him, one of her long ears twitching. Henry turned as well, and for a minute, they looked almost comically similar—trainer and pokémon—both with confused, wide-eyed gazes. “Huh?”

“That’s right,” Michael said. “I bet you she has more new moves up her sleeve now that she’s evolved. We just have to find them.”

Henry twirled the pencil around, pressing the eraser to his chin. “Like what?”

“Like that move she used at the end to make Yanma fall,” Michael said. “Have you ever seen her use it before?”

Henry shook his head. “Nope.” He looked down at Clefable. “What about you? Have you ever used it before without telling me?” The pokémon giggled.

Michael sighed. “Come on, be serious. We’ve got a completely unique case on our hands here. We can’t goof off. We have to see what else she can do.” He stood. “Come on, we’re going back to the patio.”

Henry slouched in his seat. “But I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to battle any more today.”

“Well you’re gonna have to,” Michael said. “Your pokémon’s powerful now, and we have to examine her if we want to utilize her full potential. Don’t you realize how important this could be?”

“But I don’t want to examine Clefable,” Henry repeated. “And what’s the big deal anyway? Just because she evolved doesn’t mean she’s any different than before.”

“Of course she’s different. Did you not see her battle?” Michael held out his arms. “Give her to me. We’ll take her outside and see what moves she knows.”

“No. She needs to rest,” the boy affirmed.

“We need to examine her.”

“I want her to rest.”

“Well I need to do research!” Michael said.

“Well she needs rest!”

“Research!”

“Rest!”

Getting to his feet, Michael threw up his hands in resignation. “Fine! Fine, go ahead. Do what you want. I’ll win my own battle.” He grabbed a discarded Pokémon League Weekly magazine from the shelves and plopped down in one of the bedside chairs. In response, Henry stiffly opened an issue of his own, and they sat with their backs turned, not speaking.

The day passed with few variations. Michael tried several times in vain to get Henry back to the patio, and make him realize that it only made sense to finish what was started and continue battling. But aside from venturing out for meals, Henry seemed to want nothing more to do than sit around in their room and talk to Clefable. His battle with the foreign trainer seemed to hold no special significance for him, which Michael found infuriating to no end. Henry simply refused to budge, and seemed to withdraw into his own thoughts, shutting out the world around him.

When he went to bed at the end of the day, it crossed Michael’s mind that perhaps Henry was even more perplexed and astonished than he was.

Whatever the cause, by next morning, whatever had troubled the boy’s mind seemed to have abated. Henry’s mood had lightened into a productive one, and after a quick breakfast, he and Michael hurried outside with their pokémon.

It turned out that Henry’s battle with the Kanto trainer had raised much interest in the patio’s community. When Michael returned that day, he and Henry were greeted by a welcoming troupe of trainers, most of whom he recognized as spectators from last time. The arena that Henry had battled on was closed off by orange cones, and several workers were filling in the holes that Yanma’s Ancientpower had made in the concrete.

The trainers quickly informed Michael of what had occurred after he and Henry had left the battlefield. Apparently, by some inevitable turn of fate, the hotel staff had been lured by the clamor of the battle, and were appalled at the damage it had caused. Henry and his opponent had broken the patio’s rules by using attacks that damaged the area, and both participants were threatened with fines. Fortunately, the management didn’t know who the battlers were, so for the time being, their investigation was at a standstill. But Michael figured it would only be a matter of time before someone finked on them, which only strengthened his resolve to win the Gym battle.

There was no way of finding out the exact identities of Jerry’s pokémon, as far as Michael could tell, so he had to make do with the information he had. He decided to leave out Turtwig and Burmy from his and Henry’s teams, who would both be vulnerable to Psychic attacks, which left him with Goldeen, Machop, and Caterpie; and Henry with Starly, Pachirisu, and Clefable.

With these teams, they battled the other trainers, some of which had Psychic pokémon of their own. By mutual agreement, they decided that the battles would all be casual, simply for the sake of good-natured practice. Nevertheless, Michael’s competitiveness didn’t abate. If he couldn’t beat a bunch of trainers in a morning get-together, then he would stand no chance against Jerry.

When they could, they occupied both sides of the available arena, but more often than not, Michael’s and Henry’s battles ended up literally side-by-side. Henry (to Michael’s slight annoyance) seemed to manage non-contact moves well, especially when Clefable’s turn came. The pokémon danced rings around her opponents, and once was even able to manage a weak attempt at a Psychic attack herself, which elicited from Henry a grin that lasted the whole day.

Michael, on the other hand, found himself struggling to keep up in his win-lose ratio. Goldeen was as floundering as ever on dry land, and though she was able to retaliate with a Supersonic and Horn Attack at times, she was for the most part useless. Machop had recovered from his thumb injury and was fully energetic again, though he was strangely susceptible to mind-attacks and would blubber around in confusion for many minutes afterward. The pokémon that did the best against Psychic opponents was, oddly, his Caterpie. Michael quickly isolated Bug Bite and Stringshot as her best moves, the ones that did a good job of putting Abras and Slowpokes in their place. Nevertheless, the truth remained crystal clear in his mind: Henry’s team packed a punch, and his didn’t.

After defeating his third opponent, having lost only twice before, Henry turned his smile over to Michael. “Hey, we should battle against each other now! Just to see each other’s strategies, you know?”

Politely denying the boy’s offer, Michael said that he was thirsty, and headed back to the main building.

His lingering hope was that the moonstone would perform another miracle and transform one of his pokémon into a super-fighting machine as well, but after the second day passed and none of them showed any signs of getting sick, Michael abandoned the experiment. But on the other hand, he was growing tired of constantly carting an armful of pokéballs to and from the Pokémon Center, which propelled him to search for a solution.

All other options exhausted, Michael stopped by a nearby library and checked out a few books on evolution, hoping to find something pertaining to moonstones. Henry gave Clefable a break as well, for she was beginning to grow frustrated at the increased attention she was getting from everybody, and so they spent the final day before the battles in Amity Square.

Michael was grateful to be immersed in his reading again, and relished the familiar feeling of blotting out the world with a blizzard of words, facts, and figures. He made a few notations in his notebook as he went along, though he forgot most of what he wrote, preferring to simply follow along and pick up bits of information. He didn’t think too much of his own battle, and so for the time being, his worry was kept at a minimum. For some odd reason, simply watching Henry train was enough, as if the umbrella of Clefable’s newfound abilities would stretch its protection to his team as well.

Haruka of Hoenn December 9th, 2011 4:21 PM

2.05

The next morning, Bertha got up bright and early to drive them to the Gym. Michael hadn’t seen her in days, but she was in a more cheerful mood than usual, which she attributed to her first week of sleeping well every night. She wore her white sundress and a pair of heels. Once they had settled into the car, she pulled the Buick out of the parking lot and onto open road.

“So, tell me,” Bertha began. “Why did you decide to skip the hospital? Is Clefairy well enough that you decided to put it off? You boys never told me when you came to see me the other day.”

In the backseat, Henry cast Michael a brief glance. “Clefairy got better.”

Bertha’s eyebrows climbed. “Really? That fast?”

“Yep. She recovered.”

“Huh. Now that’s something.” From the rearview mirror, Michael saw Bertha’s eyes shift towards Henry. “I’d like to take a look at her when we get back.”

“Oh, uh don’t worry,” Henry said. “You’ll see real soon.”

Michael had to turn away to hide his smile. Bertha asked no more questions, and roughly ten minutes later, they pulled into a parking lot of a lone, two-story building. On the outside, it didn’t look too different from the other buildings in the city, but once they stepped in, Michael was entirely consumed by its atmosphere.

The interior of the Gym was dark and spacious. The walls were made of smooth gray stone that was cool to the touch, and the only source of lighting was a series of long, rectangular windows spaced evenly along the sides. The slits were rimmed with what appeared to be dark wood, but they were otherwise undecorated, and the light they let in was stark and unfiltered. The only furniture in the lobby was a pair of benches that stood against the walls, and two twin statues that greeted them at the entrance; otherwise, it was completely empty. It reminded Michael of a church.

Bertha took the lead, and they ventured farther in, entering a narrow hallway. Here, there were various doors, distinguished by numbers engraved in the wood. Wrought-iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, carrying real candles, and there were even paintings framed on the walls, depicting muddled, abstract images.

“This is what you can do when your city has money,” Bertha whispered, with a smile. “I haven’t seen all the Gyms in Sinnoh, but I’ve heard that this is one of the nicest ones.”

Henry eyed the doors they passed. Most of them were silent, but behind others, the faint sounds of battles could be heard from within. “How do you know where to go, Bertha? Jerry never told us what room or anything.”

“These aren’t the battle rooms,” Bertha replied. “They’re rental rooms. Hearthome doesn’t have a lot of places for trainers to practice, and with such a big inflow of people each year, even the hotel can’t always keep up with the demand for space. So what you’ll often see in these big-city Gyms are rooms that can be rented out for battling. The plus with these is that you can battle with people that the actual leader hires, that use similar pokémon and moves. It’s as close as you can get to battling the leader, without the high-stakes.”

Michael felt a nudge on his shoulder. “We should have done that!” Henry said to him.

“Well, now we know,” Michael replied.

They reached the second floor, which was totally empty except for a door. A woman with dark hair sat at a table beside it, and looked up as they entered.

“Welcome to the Hearthome Gym. Names please?”

Henry stepped forward. “Henry McPherson.”

The woman looked down at her papers. “All right. I’ll go get Mr. Bradford.” She disappeared behind the door. A minute later, she returned.

“He’s ready for you. Come inside.”

She held the door open as they entered. The battle room was stark in its simplicity. The floor was a sheet of fine gravel, matching the purplish-gray hue of the walls. The slitted windows were back, casting streaks of white light across the room’s perimeter.

To Michael’s surprise, Jerry was already waiting for them. He stood on the far end of the battlefield, cloaked in half-shadow. His arms were crossed. “Welcome. I’m glad you all could make it. Michael, Bertha, you can have a seat at the bench. Henry, please step forward with your first pokémon.”

They followed his instructions. Henry took out his first pokéball, fumbled for the knob, and held it open. Starly tumbled out with a screech, flapping his wings to gain altitude. Before the battle, Michael had advised Henry to save Clefable for last, using her as a secret weapon in case all else failed.

Michael waited for Jerry to take out his first pokéball, but he never did—the Gym leader just stood there, as if waiting for a cue. At first, Michael was confused, but then he saw a tiny ripple of air above a patch of gravel, then a shimmer, as if a hole was slowly stretching between two dimensions. Out of nowhere, a tiny body emerged and landed on Jerry’s side of the arena.

The pokémon had a vaguely human resemblance: plump body, long, knobby limbs, and two tufts of blue hair protruding like horns from its head. Its shoes, also a matching blue, curled at the tips like a clown’s. The pokémon made no sound, shuffling from side to side like some sort of performer, making gestures in the air with its large, gloved hands.

“You may start, if you’d like,” said Jerry. “Mr. Mime’s not one to rush things.”

Though the offer was probably just a pleasantry, it nevertheless struck Michael as odd. He watched as Henry complied, keeping his voice steady. “Starly, use Wing Attack!”

Starly beat his wings faster, stirring the air around him into two twin cyclones that kicked up the gravel. Starly launched the attack at Mr. Mime, who was thrown back by the force of the wind. Bun instead of falling, it did a backwards cartwheel and jumped back to its feet, entirely unharmed.

“Mime, use Mimic!” said Jerry.

The Mr. Mime paused for a moment, pressing its fingers to its temples. Then it spread out its arms, and at that instant they became wings—so fast that Michael barely had time to catch the illusion. A glowing, translucent hologram threaded around Mr. Mime’s arms, accurate down to the tiniest detail, and generated the exact same gust of wind when the pokémon flapped them forward.

The Wing Attack engulfed the Starly, tossing him about like a leaf in a storm. The screeching bird barely had time to escape before Mr. Mime sent forth the second one, which sent Starly spiraling to the floor. The bird rolled over in the gravel, its wings splayed, then lifted itself back into the air. Clearly, his confidence had taken a blow.

The Mr. Mime did not attack again; its wings faded away, leaving behind its two reedy arms, and the pokémon bent forward in a silent bow, its demonstration complete.

Henry looked up at Jerry, marked with shock. “Whoa. What was that?”

Jerry chuckled. “That’s what Mr. Mime does.”

Henry bit his lip. He tried a Quick Attack and a Peck, both of which Mr. Mime copied effortlessly; with self-generated speed, and a holographic beak that sprouted from its nose.

After several rounds of this give-and-take, during which Henry became visibly confused and frustrated, Mr. Mime began to take the offensive. The pokémon used Confusion, which clouded Starly’s mind with an inward battle, jarring and garbling his motions. While Starly warred with himself, the Mr. Mime pressed the pads of its long fingers together to form a large ‘O’ in the air, puckered its lips as if to blow through it, and shot a funnel of pink energy at the Starly, knocking him back like a volleyball.

The blow was sufficient to snap Starly out of his confusion, but when the bird recovered, he simply flew around, dodging the pink Psybeam attacks, screeching something rude in his special Starly-language. For a while Henry did nothing but watch, though it was clear that the boy was thinking, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scrambled to find an answer.

Finally, Henry shouted his command. “Starly, use Brave Bird!”

Starly did not react at once; at the moment he seemed only to want to evade the deranged, smiling creature that kept shooting death rays at him. Jerry didn’t seem to mind.

“Mime, use Psychic.”

The Mr. Mime bent over slightly, closing its eyes in preparation for the attack. Starly stopped his cartwheeling through the air, and as he aimed itself at his opponent, Michael swore he could see a gleam of satisfaction in the bird’s eyes, as if thinking: gotcha!

Folding his wings and letting out a shrilling war cry, Starly shot himself forward like a bullet from a gun, and collided with Mr. Mime. The Psychic pokémon fell back, its eyes flying open and its mouth gaping wide in shock. Its arms curled around the thrashing Starly, trapping its opponent in a hug as they both tumbled to the floor.

Henry tightened his fist. “Now, Starly! Use Peck!”

Before Mr. Mime could do anything else, Starly began to peck, jabbing at the pokémon’s chest, arms, and neck. The clown tried to wriggle its face free, but that failed too as Starly worked his way upward to its head. The talons on Starly’s legs gripped a tuft of Mr. Mime’s cotton-candy hair and tugged, as if to pull off a wig. Mr. Mime opened his mouth in what would have been a scream of protest, while its large hands groped at empty air.

Jerry stepped out of his nonchalant stance and drew forward. “Mr. Mime, use Substitute!”

At first, with Starly’s body blocking his view, Michael didn’t see what happened. He saw one of the white hands lift and snap its fingers, but for a while, nothing else happened.

Then, after a few seconds, Starly’s battering stopped. Tilting his head in confusion, Starly flew back in a tiny arc, landing a few feet away from Mr. Mime’s motionless body. Only now, it wasn’t a body.

Instead, in Mr. Mime’s place lay a shiny, smiling replica made of rubber. The fake-Mr. Mime lay still on its back, limbs relaxed, its eyes reflecting the lifeless glare of light.

Confused, Henry approached for a closer look. Starly did the same. Again he tried to jab the doll’s arm with his beak, but the skin absorbed the blows, swallowing the dents as soon as they appeared. Starly pecked again, this time adding his talons to the assault, but the doll rolled over like a sack of flour, unharmed.

From his place at the other side of the room, Jerry smiled. “You like that move? I can tell that you do. Substitute’s not very common, even with Psychic pokémon, but Mr. Mime’s been pretty adept at learning it. When he’s created his substitute, nothing can hurt him. Not even Earthquake.” Jerry stepped closer to the motionless Mr. Mime. “And now you’ll see the real reason why I have this fellow in my team. Mime, come out.”

Jerry’s command faded into silence. The Mr. Mime doll remained where it was. Henry and Starly simultaneously looked at Jerry in expectation, and the Gym leader rubbed his chin. “Hang on.”

He stepped around to his pokémon, and Henry and Starly backed away to make room. Jerry kneeled down as close as he could without touching the doll, and looked it over. “Hello? Mr. Mime… come out. Did you hear me? What are you waiting for?” He waved his hand over the vacant eyes.

“Maybe he’s experiencing technical difficulties,” Henry said. From the side, Michael snickered.

“No, no… there’s gotta be something…” Jerry pressed his forefinger to his chin. “Mr. Mime, come out!” he tried again, but with no results. Jerry began to pace, muttering. “Agh… drat. Mime must’ve gotten the technique wrong again. It’s only his fourth day using this move; I can’t blame him. But it’s a shame on my part.”

Michael leaned forward. “Wait, what happened?”

Jerry turned to him, smiling dryly. “Mr. Mime’s stuck. When a pokémon uses Substitute, they put their real body into a sort of… limbo inside the fake one. It’s hard to explain. Mime and I studied the technique for days, but just when I thought we had it right, I guess I was proven wrong…”

Henry bit his lip. “But is he still… you know…”

“Alive? Oh, of course,” Jerry said. “It’s just that he’s probably really confused right now. He’ll switch back to his regular body when the effect wears off, but that takes time.” With a sigh, he took out Mr. Mime’s pokéball and returned him.

Henry rocked on the balls of his feet. “So… would this count as me beating him?”

Jerry nodded. “Unfortunately. But don’t think this changes anything—we’re far from done!” He swapped Mr. Mime’s pokéball with another. “Go, Gallade!”

A large pokémon emerged from the capsule, landing on two sturdy legs. The pokémon’s body was tall and lean, like that of a warrior, and covered in pearl-white skin. Its arms, in contrast, were a bright green, and instead of hands and fingers, one of them extended into a thin, sharp blade. One of the Gallade’s eyes was covered by a green, riblike comma, and the other that stared out at Henry was a bright, piercing red.

“Gallade, use Slash!”

The Gallade lunged forward, slashing at Starly with its sword hand. Starly flew out of the way, climbing high into the air.

From the onset, Michael could tell that Gallade was more of a Fighting pokémon than a Psychic one. It relied on its speed and accuracy to pin Starly down, and flinched back more than usual when the bird retaliated with a Peck or a Wing Attack. Michael guessed it to be Jerry’s way of adaptation, since he couldn’t expect all of his opponents to have pokémon that were weak to Psychic.

As the two pokémon became used to battle, and Starly began to show signs of tiring, Gallade switched to its second mode. It tucked its arms against its chest and popped out of thin air just like Mr. Mime had, reappearing seconds later in an entirely new place. Starly would turn to catch up, and Gallade would teleport again, dodging Pecks and Wing Attacks until it drove the bird to the end of its string. After a final, feeble attempt at stirring wind, Starly quite literally fell down from exhaustion, and Henry pressed his hand over his mouth, momentarily appalled that he had driven his pokémon to such a point. He switched out Starly and sent out Pachirisu.

The electric squirrel emerged, scampered for a bit after its own tail, and then turned to look up at Gallade, who had appeared in front of it like a grand statue.

“Pachirisu, use Spark!”

Tiny white sparks began to crackle around Pachirisu’s cheeks, and the squirrel clamped its paws over one of Gallade’s legs to transfer the charge. Gallade’s body seized up, his eye bulging, and he began to swipe at Pachirisu with his sword, trying to get him off.

Through it all, Michael sat slightly slouched in his seat, tapping his knee as he watched the Gallade battle. More than anything, he was desperate for some notepaper and a pencil, and he mentally scolded himself for not having the foresight to bring anything. What kept him in check, however, was the fact that Bertha was sitting right beside him, calm but attentive. Even if he were witnessing the greatest battle in the world, there was no way he would ever work on his chart when she was around. So he observed in silent agony as Gallade and Pachirisu annihilated each other.

Several rounds of Spark and Swift had brought Gallade to his knees, and in turn, Pachirisu was beginning to phase out of adrenaline and enter into crash mode. Gallade reverted back to his teleporting trick again, which only quickened the process. Pachirisu ended up giving out, plopping still upon the floor, its tiny sides heaving with exhaustion.

With a deep breath, Henry switched out his second pokémon and silently brought out his third. Clefable emerged on her feet, spinning slightly, her wings fluttering as she gained her balance on the new terrain. Instantly, Jerry’s eyes widened. “You have a Clefable? Wow. I haven’t seen too many of those in Sinnoh. They’re Kanto pokémon, if I remember correctly.”

Bertha also seemed surprised. She had drawn back in her seat, and pressed her palm to her chest. “Henry, when did this happen?”

“The night that she got sick,” Henry mumbled.

Bertha settled back into silence, though it was clear she wasn’t satisfied. Her eyes hung on to the Clefable from then on, following its every move.

Henry’s Clefable fell into battle with Gallade as swiftly as she had before, dodging the pokémon’s swipes and retaliating with her own. Gallade extended his normal arm out to the side, and that one too became a sword, which he used to parry Clefable’s claws. The two figures became blurs, and a cloud of dust was kicked up around them as they danced.

As it became clear who was winning, Gallade immediately fell into the defensive, teleporting frantically across the battlefield in an attempt to confuse his opponent. But Clefable had evidently learned from her encounter with Yanma—she no longer chased the moving target, and instead leaped at Gallade only when he drew near. On Jerry’s command, Gallade used Confusion, which Clefable overcame just in time to deflect a Psycho Cut.

As Michael watched this astounding exchange between the battlers, he couldn’t help but be amazed. Clefable wasn’t just good. She was kicking ass.

Henry, who seemed both elated and frightened at his pokémon’s abilities, ordered Clefable to use Wake-Up-Slap, which swept Gallade right across the cheek. The red eye puckered, and the pokémon stumbled.

“Finish it off!” Henry cried, jumping. “Tackle it!”

With a bellow, Clefable pounced on top of Gallade and pinned it to the floor. She dealt a few more blows, and then Gallade slumped against the ground, its eye drifting closed.

Jerry maintained an impressively calm demeanor at Gallade’s demise. He swapped the old pokéball for a new one, bringing out his third battler. It was a Chingling, a pokémon that looked like a Christmas bell. It had a round, golden body with tiny arms and legs, and two red, ribbon-like tassels flowing from its head. The pokémon drifted in the air without the aid of wings, or any other sort of propellant, and made soft chiming noises as it rocked from side to side.

Without a command from Jerry, Chingling opened with a Psybeam that issued from its thin mouth. Clefable dodged the pink funnel, and with a high leap, managed to hit the Chingling with her hand and bring it down several inches. After that, she abstained from physical contact, instead focusing on keeping a strong resistance against the Chingling’s repeated attacks of Confusion. She ran around, one eye open and the other squinting almost shut, as if trying to stir up a hidden power to retaliate. Michael watched, awestruck, as the glimmer of pink returned to her eyes.

Right then, he felt a weight press down upon him, though it wasn’t as strong as what he had felt in the courtyard. Bertha shifted uncomfortably, as did Jerry, and Henry, feeling the effects of increased gravity. The Chingling began to sink, its mystical levitation suppressed, until it was within Clefable’s reach. Then, the pokémon began to claw and jab at it with all her might, until the Chingling flopped down like a broken bell, fainted.

Henry stood still for a few seconds, then looked up at Jerry. The Gym leader remained silent, and then, slowly, he lifted his hands and clapped three times. “Well done. Well done. You’ve truly made this a great battle, Henry.”

Henry smiled. He and Jerry met at the center of the arena and shook hands, after which Jerry placed the badge—a shiny purple coin—into Henry’s hand, along with some money.

When the leader had finished, Henry approached Michael with a dazed, windblown expression on his face. “I can’t believe it, Michael! I did it! I won!” He held up the Relic badge. A large circle in the center connected three smaller purple ones, its silver threads intertwining the three in a sort of ghostly web. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Michael nodded. For the next minute, Henry embarked upon a rapid, stumbling recollection of his battle, but his words were partially lost to Michael, who was already lost in thought, searching for something that had briefly popped into his mind, then slipped away again.

“… and after he took out Pachirisu I definitely thought I’d lose, but when I sent out Clefable and she totally, I mean I couldn’t even believe it!” Henry was saying. “I mean, it’s like after she changed she’s gotten so much better! It’s the weirdest thing!”

Suddenly, Michael’s eyes lit up. “Rogers-Bubbley!”

Henry, who had been admiring his badge again, tore his gaze away. “Huh?”

Michael snapped his fingers, beaming as the information returned to him. “It was this real boss experiment they did in Kanto back in 1949. I read about it yesterday. It was performed by two scientists, Rogers and Bubbley, who took a plain old Pikachu and put it in a metal box. Then they shot at it with all this radiation that was at a specific frequency, and when they took it out—no joke—it changed!”

“Changed, how?”

Michael spread out his hands. “It grew! It became like three times bigger, and then its color changed, and so did its tail and ears and everything, and when they compared it, it matched the structure of a Raichu! The Pikachu became a Raichu! Don’t you get it? That moonstone you found must be one of those rocks that lets out radiation! Of course it wouldn’t work for my pokémon, because that frequency doesn’t affect them!”

“So… the moonstone is like the stone that evolved Pikachu?” Henry said.

Michael nodded. “Exactly.”

At that moment, Jerry, who had been exchanging a few parting words with Bertha, waved goodbye to the boys and disappeared behind the back door to get ready for his next shift. Bertha went over to Michael and Henry, spreading out her arms.

“Well, congrats!” she said. “That was a really great battle, Henry. You’ve improved.”

Henry blushed. “But Clefable did all the work.”

Bertha let out a chuckle. “No, you did. You guided your team with control and discipline, both traits of a good leader. Jerry saw it with his own eyes, and so did I. Stop hiding from yourself. You’re made of the right stuff, and you've got the right skills, so don't be afraid to go on and use them. Okay?”

Henry nodded. “Okay.”

“Great.” Bertha smiled. “Anyways, we should probably be heading out now. I want to get you guys back to the hotel so Michael has plenty of time to practice.”

She led them downstairs and to the exit. As they left the Gym, Henry had his badge in his hand, and was admiring its sleek contour, grinning. Michael was smiling too, but for an entirely different reason.

When they arrived back at the hotel and parted to their respective rooms, Michael immediately grabbed his backpack and notebook, along with a few of the library books he had been reading. He passed Henry by the door, who had barely taken three steps inside, and pulled the boy after him.

“Come on,” Michael said. “We’re going to Amity Square.”

Henry frowned. “Amity Square? But if you want to battle, we can just go to the patio again.”

“No. It has to be somewhere private,” Michael said. “I don’t want anybody listening in on us, and with Bertha here, there’s always a chance she might. So come on.”

With a sigh, Henry went to follow him. When they arrived at the park, Michael immediately sought out the loneliest, shadiest picnic table in the park and laid out his things on the surface. He opened his books, thumbing through various pages until he found his own bookmarks.

Across from him, Henry took a seat, resting his chin on his arms as he watched. “So, what’s this about? What did you find out about this whole item thing?”

Michael found the paragraph he had been looking for: Evolution Experiments in the 1900s, and scanned the text with his finger. “Got it. Right here. ‘The Rogers-Bubbley experiment was conducted after a correlation was discovered between a growing population of Raichus in the northeastern lowlands of Kanto, and the abundance of a strain of rock found only in that area.’ And after the scientists did the experiment, they tested the stone on a bunch of other Pikachus to make sure it wasn’t just a freak accident, and all of them evolved. They called it the Thunderstone. Then, when science became more advanced, it was confirmed that there was actually a biological connection between Pikachu and Raichu, though no one noticed it on a deeper level than appearances before.” When he finished reading, Michael looked up. “So you see? That moonstone you found must be like the Thunderstone. And what’s even better—there could be more of those catalyst things out there! I bet with just a bit more research, we could figure out where to find them and evolve all our pokémon! We’ll be invincible, I’m telling you!”

His enthusiasm, however, seemed entirely lost on Henry. The boy processed his words long and slow, biting his lip this way and that before responding. “But… even if we do find out where these stones are, how will we ever get them? It’s not like we can travel the whole world. And don’t you think it’s a little risky to count on evolution to make our pokémon more powerful instead of training them the old-fashioned way? Wouldn’t that be… you know…” he dropped his voice, “cheating?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not asking you to help. I’m just saying that there might be an easier way to get things done. If you want to be a good little boy and do everything by the book, that’s fine with me. I’ll just go ahead and plan innovation and make history all by myself.” He slammed the book shut, tucked it under his arm, and walked away from the bench.

He veered onto the path and walked for several minutes, his excitement for the discovery quickly eating away his frustration at Henry’s lack of interest. The thought that there were items, actual items, that could turn a regular pokémon into a supercharged fighter amazed him. Not only would he have type advantages on his side when he challenged the Gyms, but power too, and with a bunch of evolutionary stones to assist him with his training, he would be unstoppable.

This vision utterly captured him, consuming the entirety of his mind so that he thought of nothing else. Lost in this daze, Michael hardly cared where he was going; he was following the path now, walking along what would eventually be a long, winding loop around the whole park. To his right, he saw the tall, wrought-iron gates that bordered the entrance.

As he walked, his thoughts moved in rapid sequence, literally colliding against each other like dominos.

So what if Henry doesn’t understand? He already won the Gym. Besides, he probably doesn’t dig anything that sounds like it’s breaking the rules... Why does he have to be such a damn kissee? Michael kicked a rock with his shoe and watched it skitter into the grass.

And on the heels of that:

It’s not even about the League—hell, it’s about life. It’s nature. Pokémon evolve and that’s that; I really don’t get why there has to be a rule about what we can and can’t use to help ourselves in battle. And besides, I can’t be the only person in the world who knows about it. There’s got to be someone who can tell me more—anyone who knows about this.

And on the heels of that:

What if there isn’t?

Michael stopped in his tracks. His heart quickened.

I have to tell someone.

A low hissing sound snapped him back to reality. Michael jerked back, looking down, and saw that a Seviper was curled up in the grass, its body as black as polished wire. Its diamond-shaped head was resting on its side, and it looked up at him with venom-red eyes, unmoving.

Michael stepped around the snake and continued on his walk, though he thought back to it for a few minutes afterward. He had never seen Hoenn pokémon here before, except…

He let the thought drift away unfinished. Already, his eyes were scanning the park, searching for the familiar baseball cap among the sea of heads that swarmed around him. At first, Michael saw nothing, but then his eyes alighted upon the park’s front gate. The doors were taller than the rest of the fence, and wrought in an elegant, curved design. They were open, and the familiar attendant’s booth stood right in the middle, dividing the road in two.

There was a small amount of people passing in and out of the park with their pokémon. From the distance, Michael picked out the man in the red cap among them, though he stood with his back turned. He appeared to be having a conversation with the park attendants, who was distinguished by his striped uniform.

Rather than approaching, Michael stood by and waited for the man to leave. Their talk was interrupted by a few bursts of laughter, and then the man in the cap waved, turning back towards the path. It was Bobby.

The newsman didn’t recognize Michael till he had almost reached the place where he stood. Then, their eyes met, and a smile turned Bobby’s face. “Oh, hey. It’s you again. Mitchell—no, Michael. Right?”

Michael nodded. “Yep. How goes it?”

Bobby shrugged. “Same old stuff.” He looked down at the book Michael held, and chuckled. “Still researching for that battle of yours?”

“Yeah. My friend just won his battle, and mine’s tonight.”

“Nice. I haven’t been here too long, but I’ve seen a lot of trainers around town. They say the Gym’s pretty rough.”

“Well, I’m feeling lucky,” Michael said. “I’ve discovered something that probably no other trainer knows.”

A visible sign of interest crossed the newsman’s face. He rubbed his chin. “What do you mean by that?”

Michael smiled. “Are you still looking for a story?”

“Well yeah, we’re always looking for a story,” Bobby replied. “Why?”

“I’ve got one for you,” Michael said, tapping the spine of his book. “It’s something that will change your life. No, the world.”

Bobby’s eyes widened by the tiniest degree, and he took his hands out of his pockets. “I’m listening.”

Without much planning of words, Michael began to recount his tale. Starting from the moonstone and Clefairy, he narrated the whole of what he had read and observed, pulling what seemed like an endless sequence of things from his memory. Bobby’s expression remained neutral and businesslike as he listened to the outpour of words. At first, Michael was unsure at what he would say; when he finished his tale, the newsman stood still, saying nothing for a moment. And then, with a slight smile, Bobby held both palms up in front of him, like a film director pausing a scene at the end of a perfect take.

“Okay. So if you can take all that and type it up, and get it to me by tomorrow, I promise you it’ll be on the next issue of Sinnoh Post. Got that, kid?”

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, Michael could barely speak. “Done deal.”

Cutlerine December 10th, 2011 2:26 AM

I've decided to start reading this here instead of on Serebii, because it seems to me that this forum tends to give fewer reviews than over there. Anyway, explanations aside, I really liked this chapter/these chapters; there were just a couple of bits that didn't quite feel right that I picked up on. I especially like how you've picked up on Gravity; it's one of those moves that's sort of left in the shade, as it were, and you really make it useful here.

I have noticed, though, that you don't capitalise 'Pokémon' or 'Poké Balls', despite the fact that you capitalise the names of individual species; generally, it's better to be consistent with things like that.

There was also this:

Quote:

The force of the wind instantly propelled both Yanma and Clefable into the air, and sent a powerful downdraft sweeping through the battlefield.
It seems seriously implausible for a Yanma to be able to lift a Clefable into the air, given their relative sizes and weights; a Yanma probably can't really carry any sort of load above a few pounds, what with that dragonfly body structure and all.

Also, would a Gallade not instinctively resort to Fighting moves when its opponent is a Clefable? Their primary type is Fighting, after all; it just seems odd to me that it only really used Confusion and Slash. Even if Jerry doesn't know that it would be better to use Fighting moves - and you did mention that that was kind of the whole reason he actually had the Gallade - then you would think that it would know what to do by instinct, since that's how they probably fight in the wild. In addition to that, given the fact that you seem to include the fact that Clefable can take Special hits rather well, it seems unusual that she would have been able to deflect a Psycho Cut.

Other than that, I have no real complains. Keep up the good work!

F.A.B.

Haruka of Hoenn December 10th, 2011 10:01 AM

It's no problem. I feel like I've been neglecting this thread because I only venture here to post, and reply to reviews, whereas on SPPF I'm constantly editing the Chapter Index and making tiny corrections for the chapters. :/ I'm going to start getting this thread up to speed, too.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cutlerine (Post 6960435)
I have noticed, though, that you don't capitalise 'Pokémon' or 'Poké Balls', despite the fact that you capitalise the names of individual species; generally, it's better to be consistent with things like that.

Capitalization was one of the things I decided upon when I first started writing. I achieved each conclusion independently, so I didn't stick to any type of formula, like 'If I capitalize Pokémon, I'll also capitalize Pokéball'. Here's my reasoning for each:

Pokémon: I never capitalize the noun 'pokémon' when I'm using it in the context of 'that pokémon over there', because in the realm of fanfiction, it would be equivalent to 'that animal over there'. (Animals don't exist in the Pokémon world, since their counterparts are the pokémon, so in this story, I refer to then just as I would refer to a regular animal.) The only time I capitalize Pokémon is when I'm talking about the actual franchise, which is unlikely in a story.

Pokémon species are an old habit of mine. My main reason for capitalizing them is because it looks cleaner. When my eyes move over the species-name of a pokémon, they just instinctively expect it to be capitalized, since it's the official name that the franchise gives to that particular species. I'm choosing not to get technical with this, since with an in-depth analysis, you could put up a convincing argument for either side.

Pokéball: It's a brand name, but I figured it would eventually become one of those proper nouns that become so widely used that they turn into common nouns. I don't remember ever going in depth about the pokéball's invention, except for a brief reference in the first chapter, so I may have to do that soon.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cutlerine (Post 6960435)
There was also this:

Quote:

The force of the wind instantly propelled both Yanma and Clefable into the air, and sent a powerful downdraft sweeping through the battlefield.
It seems seriously implausible for a Yanma to be able to lift a Clefable into the air, given their relative sizes and weights; a Yanma probably can't really carry any sort of load above a few pounds, what with that dragonfly body structure and all.

I imagined Yanma to be a super-strong flier, with durable wings capable of beating a dozen-or-so times per second and propelling it high into the air, while creating strong winds that can wreak havoc below. That's in dire situations, though. The battle was a reference to the HeartGold Pokédex entry, and also to the same game's entry for Yanmega, who can carry an adult aloft. So I figured that Yanma, who evolves by growing into Yanmega, would start out by being able to lift an object the size of Clefable, who (if I recall correctly) is only a few pounds heavier.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cutlerine (Post 6960435)
Also, would a Gallade not instinctively resort to Fighting moves when its opponent is a Clefable? Their primary type is Fighting, after all; it just seems odd to me that it only really used Confusion and Slash. Even if Jerry doesn't know that it would be better to use Fighting moves - and you did mention that that was kind of the whole reason he actually had the Gallade - then you would think that it would know what to do by instinct, since that's how they probably fight in the wild. In addition to that, given the fact that you seem to include the fact that Clefable can take Special hits rather well, it seems unusual that she would have been able to deflect a Psycho Cut.

Being a Psychic Gym, Jerry would have trained his Gallade to utilize its Psychic side more than it would have in the wild, even if he kept it around for its Fighting moves. So, even though Gallade acted upon his Fighting tendency in opening the battle, when he saw that Clefable was blocking his physical blows rather well, he resorted to tricking her with teleportation. Jerry's Gallade would be more resourceful than a wild one, since he's been trained to optimize all of his abilities. The way I wrote the battle between Clefable and Gallade wasn't too descriptive, which I did to achieve a certain effect. I summarized what Michael saw, and only called attention to a few commanded attacks to create the image of continuous motion while his eyes were on Clefable.


I hope I've satisfied your questions. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you enjoyed the chapters!

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ December 14th, 2011 7:50 AM

Sorry, for short and late review...

Ah, revenge is always sweet...though Henry should be thanking the kid for giving Clefairy a major power up. Shame about all that collateral damage, though... perhaps the boys should consider alternate accommodations, as someone's gonna rat 'em out sooner or later. It would be a shame if the league's got a monopoly stronghold over traveler lodging, especially in a place as big as Hearthome. Fortunately, by the time of the events of my story, they don't have that sort of control xD

Have to agree with Michael's Pokemon, though... playing with a shiny black stone would not be my idea of entertaining.

Jerry's elaborate Gym. Paid for in part by the League's under-the-table deals with Team Galactic?

Nice Gym battle, and an interesting take on how Substitute works. And Pachirisu got in some action I see... But I have to agree that one Close Combat from Gallade would have ended the battle pretty quickly... A Gym Leader should have some preparation into taking advantage of both types if he's got a dual-type.

And yay, horrific experiments on Pikachu, which is about all the thing's good for lol

And Michael's first published work of research may be in the works! But he's got a gym battle to take care of first... and I wonder how he's going to deal with it, since he wasn't able to get an uber evolution using the Moon Stone. Time will tell... and I'll be looking forward to reading it...

Haruka of Hoenn December 29th, 2011 8:59 AM

I have a plan for Michael's Gym battle and it's pretty solid... so consider it in the works. So far, it's one of the most non-typical battle scenes I've ever written. I'll also be expanding on the traits of Jerry's and Michael's pokemon, since both will be put to the test.

As for Jerry's Gym, it's a result of Hearthome's wealth, plus contributions from the League, and some of Jerry's own money. I like writing about nice Gyms, because they really stretch my creativity and give me a much needed break from describing how run-down everything is. Hehe.

The next chapter is 75% done, so I can't say much more in response without giving the interesting bits away. I've been somewhat unproductive during this holiday break, though I will definitely have it in by the end of next week. My New Year's gift to you all.

Thanks for reading!

Haruka of Hoenn January 6th, 2012 1:34 PM

New year, new chapter...

2.1

Scarcely five minutes after he had left, Michael came running back to the picnic table, where Henry sat, idly playing with a leaf. When he stumbled over to the bench, breath racing, the boy looked up in shock.

“What happened? Where were you?” Henry stood, snatching the book from Michael’s hand before it slipped. Michael waved him away.

“Never mind. We have to go back to the hotel. Come on.” He hoisted his backpack over his shoulders and picked up the stack of books. Henry followed him, utterly confused, but whenever he tried to cut in with a question, Michael shook his head and kept walking.

When they reached the hotel, Michael immediately went to the front desk, dropping his books down on the floor. The man behind the counter, who had been sorting through a stack of papers, jumped at the noise.

“Hey.” Michael rested his hands on the counter. “Do you have a typewriter I can borrow?”

The clerk lowered his papers, the shock passing from his face and leaving behind a perplexed look. “What for?”

“I need it. But I’ll give it back, I promise.”

The clerk pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure if we have a spare, but I can check… be right back.” He disappeared behind the back door. Michael waited patiently, tapping his foot in rhythm. A minute later, the clerk returned, backing out with a large metal contraption in his arms. It resembled a one-row toaster, with a rectangular extension at the bottom that contained the keys. Several slips of white paper were inserted into the slot, flapping softly.

Michael grinned as the clerk handed him the machine. “Thanks.”

The clerk sighed. “No problem. But be sure to bring it back by the end of the day. That one was mine.”

Michael nodded. With the typewriter in one arm, he reached for his books with the other, grunting as he tried to keep balance. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Henry ran over to help him, and together they trudged up to their room, arms full.

Henry unlocked the door and held it open with his shoulder, and Michael rushed inside, scrambling to set up his workspace. He set the typewriter down at the bedside table, gathering his notebook, pencil, and library rentals around it. Skipping around Henry, he drew back the curtains, letting light spill across the room, and sat down. He began to type.


June 13, 1963.

ITEM EVOLUTION
by Michael Rowan


Michael did not pause to think—he simply worked, hearing the sound of his fingers drumming against the keyboard, the sound of his ideas being ironed out into physical existence. The paper was a recount of his ideas about evolution, spanning chronologically from when he had first seen the moonstone, to when Clefable had evolved and become a super-powerful fighter. He mostly repeated what he had said to Bobby, using his memory of their conversation as a guide, thumbing through his notes to add in extra detail where need be. He cited information from the books, retyping the paragraph he had read about the Rogers-Bubbley experiment, and another section about later studies done on the so-called Leafstones and Waterstones.

As he wrote, Michael felt a growing excitement wash over him, and he was pulled further and further into the task. He watched the tiny bar move across the page, leaving behind letter after letter, word after word. He was lulled by the repetitiveness of it all, the simple click-clack of the keys that faded into the empty space around him.

For a while, that was all he heard.

Then, when he had typed the last line of his essay, he breathed a sigh, and removed the paper. As he read it over, he felt a swelling dissatisfaction.

It’s too short.

Shaking his head, Michael set the paper side and started anew. Click, clack. Clickety-clack. From somewhere to his right, he heard muffled movement, and a question from Henry.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael answered. “I’m fine, I just have to do something really quick.”

He wasn’t even sure if the boy had replied to him. Michael kept typing. What seemed like a few minutes later, he pulled out the second version of his essay and held it out in front of him. This time, the block of text stretched out for a page and a half, but when Michael read it over he saw that it was ridden with typos and lacked organization. He had repeated the same sentence twice, using the same exact wording. Shaking his head again, Michael set the paper aside and started anew, this time pausing before he typed, running his sentences several times through his head before he set them down on paper. He passed the first page with ease, and then made it three-fourths of the way down the second. After typing his concluding statement, Michael pulled out the page and read it again, mentally marking the things he had covered.

Mutations, moonstones, Thunderstones… what’s missing?

He scanned the lines with his fingers. He had made all the points he had set out to make, but for some reason, the essay as a whole seemed empty, devoid of thought. It looked like another school assignment that his English teacher had forced upon him.

His frustration mounting, Michael inserted another fresh paper. If his writing was going to be published, it had to be perfect. He wanted to be hailed, not tossed aside.

Type type type type…

Again, Michael heard Henry’s voice rise out from the silence.

“Just a minute!” he answered. “Let me finish this sentence!”

But before he could immerse himself again, he was jerked out of his stupor by the elbow. Michael whirled away from the typewriter, briefly disoriented, and then his eyes locked on Henry, who had appeared beside him.

“What did you do that for?”

“I said get up!” the boy said, pulling again.

“What are you talking about? I’m busy!” Michael tried to pry loose Henry’s grip, but the boy held fast.

“You—can’t—do—this!”

“Lay off!” Michael said. “It’s been like ten minutes since I sat down and already you’re bugging me! What’s your freaking bag?”

Henry dropped Michael’s arm and put his hands on his hips. “You’ve been sitting here for almost an hour! It’s 11:25! Your battle’s at nine!”

“So? I have plenty of time. I have to get this done. Now move.” He pushed Henry away by the shoulder and went back to typing. For a while, the thrumming silence returned.

Then, a pair of hands reached into his field of vision and pulled the typewriter off the table. Michael swiveled around again, his expression livid. “What're you—give it back!” He lunged forward, but Henry had already retreated across the room and placed the typewriter atop the wardrobe. “You’ll use it after we practice! You haven’t done anything yet, and you said yourself that you’d be trying a lot harder from now on!”

“Yeah but… well, that was before!” Michael reached up to scratch his head. “And what are you talking about anyway? I’m ready.”

Henry stepped forward, tilting his head. “Really? Then what pokémon are you going to use against Jerry?”

“Machop, Caterpie, Goldeen,” Michael said at once.

“Oh? And how are you going to use Goldeen if she’s on dry land? Have you thought about that?”

Michael groaned. “Look, I’ll figure it out! Just let me write, damn it!”

“No!”

“Yes!” Michael tried to shove the boy aside, but he jumped back to where he was.

“After you answer my question,” Henry said.

Michael threw his hands over his head, grabbing fistfuls of hair. “What's the deal? I’ll win the battle just like I won the others! It’s not a freaking problem!”

“And what if you don’t?” Henry countered. “You think Bertha will want to stay a few extra days in Hearthome just because you were too lazy to make an effort to win?”

“We’ll go without her.”

“How? We don’t have unlimited money, you know. And it’s not like two kids can just roam around the country wherever they want.”

“Uh, correction?” Michael pulled his I.D. from his backpack. “Trainer Card.” He smiled, waving it around in front of Henry’s nose. Quick as lightning, the boy snatched it out of Michael’s hand and jumped back towards the beds. Michael reached after it a second too late.

“Give it back!” he snarled.

Henry shook his head. “No. You’ll have it back when you’ve proven to me that you’re a trainer.”

“I said give it back!”

Henry folded his arms. “Nope.”

Michael stepped forward again, curling his fist. “Give it back, before I take it from you!”

“Fine,” Henry said. He pocketed the card and took a pokéball from his tote bag. “Battle me.”

Michael paused. “What?”

“If you want the card back, battle me.”

“Pfft. Battle you? In here?”

“Yes,” Henry said. He twisted open the capsule, and out came Starly, fluttering around the boy’s head and settling on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ve sent out my pokémon. Where’s yours?”

“Ugh. Fine.” Michael went to his backpack and randomly selected a pokéball. He twisted open the capsule, and out came Goldeen, flopping down onto the carpet like eight pounds of dead fish. She slapped her tail uselessly against the carpet, her air-adjusting gills spreading open and closed.

Henry watched the pokémon flop around for a bit, and looked up at Michael. “Well? Your move.”

Michael turned out his palms and shrugged. “How am I supposed to get Goldeen to reach Starly? He’s on your freaking shoulder!”

“So?”

“Get him to come down!”

“Do you think that’s what Jerry would do with Chingling?” Henry said. “Do you think he’ll make it easy for you if you ask?”

“Look, it’s not my fault that stupid Goldeen can’t move on land!” Michael exclaimed. “I’m pretty sure that the Gym doesn’t give out complimentary lakes!” He called Goldeen back into the capsule and threw it into his backpack.

“Then what about your other pokémon?” Henry pressed. “Turtwig?”

“Weak. He’s Grass.”

“Machop?”

“Weak.”

“Caterpie?”

“She’s fine, but she won’t last a single minute.”

“Then we have to catch another pokémon,” Henry said.

Michael lowered himself into the armchair, linking his hands behind his head. “I don’t feel like it.”

Henry let out a breath. “You’re impossible! That’s it, I’m sick of helping you. Do what you want.” He turned sharply towards the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going outside to enjoy my last day in Hearthome. Like it or not, but I’m leaving with Bertha.”

“Have fun,” Michael called to the boy’s back. Henry didn’t reply. He slammed the door behind him, enveloping the room in silence.

Good riddance, Michael thought. He pulled up the second armchair and reclined his feet. He cast his gaze to the typewriter, but the urge to write had left him.

Instead, he pulled his backpack over to his side and took out Goldeen’s pokéball. He turned it over in his hands, letting the silver glare sear into his eyes.

Water Gun, Horn Attack, Supersonic... Michael began to tally Goldeen’s known moves in his head. He couldn’t get past three. What other moves do Goldeens know? What moves can they know?

With a kindling frustration, Michael held up the pokéball to eye level. He could see his own eyes reflected on the spherical surface. Unscrewing the knob, he held the capsule aloft. “Go.”

The pokéball spun around in the air and landed on the carpet, just as Goldeen emerged, flapping her fins. Michael leaned back in his chair, watching sourly as the pokémon moved about. A ray of dusty sunlight from the window shone on her scales, which glistened slightly with beads of moisture. She had collected the water during their last battle, when a morning rainstorm had soaked the outdoor patio. The arena had mostly dried by the time Michael got there, but nevertheless Goldeen was able to pull some water out of the ground and use Water Pulse. The droplets were still there now, winking at him in the light.

If only it could rain in the battle room, Michael thought grimly, picking up the pokéball again. But it couldn’t. And it wouldn’t. He opened it, and as he watched Goldeen flee back into the capsule, he felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. His team was a flop.

Michael placed the pokéball onto the table and let his gaze trail off towards the ceiling. There was no way he would be able to use Goldeen, unless by some miracle, he could find a way to bring water into the battle room by the end of the day. But what was he supposed to do? Fill a bucket?

He continued to play with the pokéball while he pondered the useless question. Michael rolled the ball around the table, turning and stopping it with his fingers, until the metal’s bright glint had nearly seared a hole through his skull. He had never been particularly interested in the topic, but the more he thought about it, the more incredible it seemed that a creature of nearly any size could fit inside such a tiny container. It seemed to defy everything he learned in school about matter and physics.

He sat there for a long time, tossing and catching the capsule with his hand. And then, ever so slowly, he felt an idea emerge. He could only skim its outer shell at first, but the longer he held it in his mind, the deeper it unfurled. He caught the capsule again and looked down at it, tracing its spherical surface with his eyes. A switch seemed to flip in his brain.

Springing into action, Michael tossed the pokéball into his backpack and ran for the door. He made a frantic sprint for the lobby, finding Henry just as the boy was getting ready to leave. He had turned for the door, a magazine clutched in his hand, when Michael stumbled into the room and shouted with full force: “WAIT!”

The entire lobby jumped at his exclamation, including Henry, who jerked away from the door, half-gaping in surprise.

Ignoring the odd looks everyone was giving him, Michael approached. “I got it! I know a way to beat the Gym!”

“You do?” Henry stepped away from the door, glowing with relief. “What is it?”

“I’ll tell you later. Come on!” Michael beckoned, and with Henry at his side, went over to the front desk. The man who had been there earlier had ended his shift, and in his place stood a woman. She lifted her eyebrows at Michael as he approached, holding the silence that was thinned across the room.

“Hey. You guys offer complimentary battle rooms, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “On the fifth floor, we have ten fully-operational arenas that are built in accordance with the League standards, as well as seven smaller, specialized rooms that cater to individual types. Currently open we have the Grass room, the Rock room, the Water room—”

“Yes! The Water room—we’ll take that one!” Michael said.

“All right. I’ll need to see your I.D, please.”

After some rummaging, Michael fished out his I.D and handed it over. The attendant looked over the card, searched for a match on her logbook, and nodded. “Just a second.” She opened a drawer beneath the counter and took out a blue key on a silver chain. “As a general courtesy, please try to keep your session under two hours. If you need to stay longer, then you’ll have to turn in your key and pay for extra time. But we do keep track of when keys are rented and when they’re returned, so don’t try to be sneaky. Okay?”

Michael winked. “You got it.”

With the key in hand, Michael motioned for Henry to follow, and they went to the elevator.

The whole of the fifth floor consisted of one wide hallway, and a series of thick, silver doors spaced several meters apart along either side. Each door had a square window at the center, and a small dial near the doorknob labeled ‘Vacant’ or ‘Occupied’. Near the back of the hallway were the specialized rooms, which had plaques identifying their type. Most of the windows Michael passed were covered from the inside, though he could still hear the sounds of battles raging behind the walls.

The Water room stayed true to its name—its structure resembled that of a public bathhouse. The arena had a white floor, tiled walls, and a tall, domed ceiling with slanted skylights. A pool of flat, blue water took the place of solid ground, save for a narrow deck along the perimeter and two tiny islands of cement protruding out on either side. That was where the trainers would stand.

As soon as he closed the door, Michael pulled the blinds over the window, shielding them from any possible scrutiny. He hurried over to one of the platforms, while Henry stayed behind on the sidelines, looking out at the watery expanse. “So what are you going to do?” he said. “What’s your plan?”

Michael held up Goldeen’s pokéball. “Okay. You know how pokéballs work, right?”

“Sorta," Henry said. They condense matter, don’t they?”

“They don’t just condense matter. They preserve it!” Michael grinned. “If a pokémon’s really banged up from battling and you send it back into the pokéball, it’s gonna look the same when you send it out again, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That means it’ll be in the exact same condition as it was when it entered the pokéball, so the same things would be going on in its body. Look.” Michael opened the capsule, and out came Goldeen, flopping onto the dry deck. He gestured towards the droplets on her scales. “She picked those up from my last battle, when she used Water Pulse. She must have not been completely dry when I sent her back into the pokéball, so they were still there when I took her out again!”

Henry tapped his chin. “So you’re going to use her pokéball… to transfer water?”

“Exactly. All I have to do is get Goldeen to take some water with her into the capsule, so that when I release her for the battle, she’ll automatically have it handy!”

“But how are you going to do that? Fit an entire pokémon plus water in the capsule, I mean. Our pokéballs have size restrictions.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “What size restrictions?”

“There’s a limit to what size pokémon can fit in our capsules,” Henry said, nodding to emphasize. “I read about it. The ones we buy are only standard size, and they have a weight limit. For really big pokémon like Wailord, you need to buy special, bigger pokéballs.”

“A Goldeen isn’t as big as a Wailord, last time I checked. Besides, I only need enough water to propel Goldeen off the ground and give her enough freedom to use attacks.”

“Fine then. But how are you going to keep the water from soaking into the ground?”

“I just have to keep it moving,” Michael answered. “Goldeen has to keep pulling it closer to herself so that it doesn’t escape. And while she’s doing that, she has to be able to dodge attacks, get into position, and fight back with her own.”

“That sounds really complicated,” Henry said.

“Too bad. I’m in it to win it, and you’re going to help me.” Michael stepped over to Goldeen and lifted her off the ground. The fish began to flail, whacking his face and arms with her fins. “Relax,” he muttered, stepping over to the edge of the pool. “You’ll get yours in a minute…”

With a mighty heave, he threw the still-flailing Goldeen into the air. The pokémon hit the water with a splash, shattering the glassy surface with rippling waves, and disappeared beneath them. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, all of a sudden, a round, glistening body emerged from the waves, leaping in a huge arc above the flowing pool. Goldeen twisted gracefully as she fell, baring her belly and sides, and splashed back down. Michael leaned over, catching the orange glimmer of her scales as she swam around the pool, her horn cutting through the water like a lance. He smiled. Beside him, Henry let out a laugh.

“Hey, Goldeen’s amazing! I never knew she could go that fast!”

Goldeen did several more laps around the pool, often pushing to leap gracefully out of the water, until it seemed that she had finally satisfied the aquatic craving within her. Swimming back over to where the boys stood, she poked her head out of the water to greet them. Michael kneeled beside her.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

The fish blinked in reply.

“Great. I’ve got something you’ll like even more. Up you go.” He reached over to pull her out of the water, and this time Goldeen complied. Michael set her down onto the deck again, and pointed her horn towards the pool.

“Okay, listen up. What I want you to do now is take the water in,” he made a beckoning motion towards the pool, “and hold it, like you’re about to use Water Gun. But you’ll have to take in a lot more water than that; as much as you can hold. Got that?”

Goldeen flapped her tail.

“Good.” Michael took the pokéball out again, facing Henry. “Then I’ll just return her and the water will be there when she comes out again.”

“But won’t that hurt her?” the boy interjected.

“I don’t see why it should,” Michael said. “But at any rate, we’ll find out…”

They both stepped back as Goldeen crawled towards the pool. Tilting her head downwards till her mouth was submerged, Goldeen began to take in water, as if she were drinking. Pretty soon, her sides began to bulge from the mass of liquid inside of her, and Michael quickly stepped forward to return her. The fish's body faded to white, then fled quickly into the pokéball, and Michael twisted the capsule closed. He waited a few seconds, and then, holding the pokéball at arm’s length, released her.

Instantly, the pokéball grew hot in his hands. After a few seconds' delay, a fat bolt of white escaped from its center, inflating into a giant, shapeless mass. Loud, crackling light flooded the room, and Michael lowered his arm just in time to see Goldeen fall into the pool, engulfed in a sheet of water.

Bending down, Michael lifted her onto the deck for inspection. Goldeen was no longer bloated like before; it seemed that all the water inside of her had emptied.

“I don’t get it," he said. "What happened? Why didn’t the water stay inside of her?”

Henry came up from behind. “Maybe Goldeen accidentally released it when she was in the pokéball.”

“Could be. Let’s see if it happens again.” Michael looked down at Goldeen. “Do it again,” he ordered. “And this time, try as hard as you can not to let the water out. Okay?”

Goldeen furrowed her brow in a fish-like sort of way and flapped her fins against the deck. She looked displeased about something, but nevertheless she advanced upon the edge of the pool and filled herself up with water. Michael sent her into the pokéball, then out again, and the same thing happened: instead of taking the crisp shape of a pokémon, the escaping light inflated itself into a hazy sort of sphere, and then changed into a blob of water plus Goldeen that rained down like a waterfall. Once the task was over, the pokéball began to pulse like a hot coal in Michael’s hand, as if the strain had overwhelmed capsule’s delicate technology. Wincing with pain, he hastened to rub his palm against his shirt. “Remind me to buy a pair of gloves before the battle,” he told Henry. “This thing is wigging out big time.”

“I guess it’s just not used to carrying that sort of load. I told you it wasn’t a good idea."

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Michael retorted. “Even with the size restrictions or whatever, I’ve seen trainers with pokémon five times the size of Goldeen. Why should the pokéball care if the thing that’s usually inside of it suddenly gains weight?”

“Because pokéballs are for pokémon, not regular matter,” Henry said, crossing his arms smartly. “There’s gotta be something in their mechanism that can only deal with living things.”

Michael pondered for a moment, tapping the capsule’s red knob, then brightened. “Maybe I should put you in a pokéball. That way I’ll always have you handy in my backpack, and we can travel two for the price of one. How about it?” He pointed the opened capsule at Henry, who instantly jumped back, arms shielding his face. The boy slipped on a puddle mid-step, however, which sent him careening towards the wall, flailing and groping for balance. Michael roared with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Henry said, drawing himself up. His face was red.

“Relax! I was kidding.” Michael lowered the capsule, smiling. “Still, you gotta admit, that would be cool—”

“Michael!”

“Okay, okay. I’m done.” Michael held up his hands in surrender. He turned back to Goldeen, who was swimming about in the water, and called her over with a whistle. He met her by the edge of the water. “Whatever’s causing this, I guess we’ll just have to deal with it for now. We’re moving on to step two.” He turned to Henry. “Goldeen has to control the water around her so that it doesn’t escape during the battle. That’s the most important part.”

“How are you going to do it?” Henry asked.

Michael fixed his gaze on the tiles of the opposite wall. “I think I have an idea… but it’ll need a lot of practice.”

“All right, then let’s do it."

Michael took Goldeen out of the water, and for the next two hours, he went over his plan with painstaking detail. He did not stop his training until the fish could emerge from the pokéball without getting anything wet, and have full mobility to perform attacks. Once she began to grow weary, Michael brought out his other pokémon and worked with them as well, preplanning their roles and attacks. This time, he vowed, he would win with battlers to spare.

After their rental period was over, the boys dutifully returned their room key and went on a lunch break, agreeing to resume after an hour. Henry allowed Michael to finish his article, which he did, his abated battle anxiety uplifting his creative spirit. After several more revisions, he removed the finished manuscript and returned the typewriter to the front desk. It was just after one o’clock.

“So how are you going to give it to the newspeople?” Henry asked. “Did you guys agree on a meeting time or something?”

“Yeah. I told them I’d meet them right outside the hotel at a quarter till one. We’re kind of late already, but I guess it can’t hurt to check.”

Michael emerged from the hotel’s front entrance and looked around the parking lot. Bobby and company were nowhere in sight. Feeling a trill of panic, Michael began to pace around the building, scanning the benches and parking spaces. Henry followed him.

Finally, Michael spotted the group of four gathered beneath an overhang. They looked like stranded travelers—all sweaty and tired, sipping cans of Coca-Cola against the heat.

“When did you say the kid would come, Bobby?” Nancy asked, checking her watch. “It’s already one-fifteen.”

Michael ran forward. “Hey, I’m here!” he said. As one, the team’s heads turned. Bobby pushed himself away from the wall, smiling.

“Hah-hey! You’ve got it!” He stepped forward, and Michael handed him the article. The final draft was nearly three full pages in length. Bobby read it over, nodding. “All right. Perfect. What we’re going to do now is send the article to two places: One is The Hearthomer. If they accept it, it’ll be published locally for the city. We’ll also send it to SNN’s office in Jubilife as our commissioned story, and for that we’ll include our own analysis, plus an introduction. And if that gets accepted, then you’ll be on Sinnoh Post, and the whole country can read what you wrote.” Bobby’s eyes met Michael’s own. “Sound like a plan?”

“You freaking bet," Michael said. “But how will I know if the story gets accepted? I’m going to Solaceon next, but I don’t know what my address will be.”

“We’ll figure out something,” said Nancy, with a slight smile. “We’re reporters. It’s our job to stalk people.” The guys snickered behind her.

Smiling, Michael stepped away. “Well, we gotta go. I have a battle to train for.”

Bobby nodded. “Take it easy.”

“You too.” Michael waved. “Thanks.”

The team gathered their things and walked off into the parking lot. Michael could hear them talking as they passed the rows of shining cars, entering the roadway on foot. When their motley colors faded into the great city at last, he turned to go inside.


//////


That evening, Jerry’s battle room was bathed in orange light. The windows around the room were masked with black, the dim glow coming from a row of lanterns lined along the walls. Their soft flickering seemed to give the room a whole new aura, one of tricks and shadows. The battlefield looked haunted, alternating between patches of light and darkness, warmth and fear.

To the side, the faces of Henry and Bertha stood out like ghostly apparitions in the firelight. They kept still as they waited, shadows dancing around them. In the midst of the silence, Bertha cast her gaze over to Michael and smiled. She looked like a zombie.

What threw off the whole effect was the pile of luggage, both old and new, that lay at their feet. After he and Henry had finished training that afternoon, Bertha had immediately told them to start packing. She had booked a train to Solaceon for that very evening, and was eager to be off to meet with the Gym leader. Henry also seemed happy to be visiting yet another city, but Michael found it extremely hard to concentrate with him and Bertha moving around and about, making plans as if the battle was over already. It wasn’t something he liked to consider, but there was always a chance that he would lose, and that their stay in Hearthome would have to be extended. And if such a thing did happen, then would Bertha delay her progress just for his sake? Would Henry be all right with traveling on foot again? He wasn’t so sure.

Before he could get too carried away, Michael rolled his shoulders to ease himself, and pulled his gloves higher up his hands. They were a last-minute purchase from the hotel’s store, made of white material with black stripes on each finger. They had been expensive, a whopping three dollars, but would nevertheless do their job. He was holding Goldeen’s pokéball in his hands now, ready to begin.

About a minute later, Jerry arrived in his usual manner—stepping silently out of the back door with a drawstring pouch. He looked tired, as if a whole day of battling had drained the life from his face. Or maybe it was just the light again, which seemed to hollow his frame considerably.

The Gym leader stepped forward to his allotted place at the head of the field. “Welcome, Michael,” he said. “I hope you’ve prepared.”

Michael did not respond, but watched as Jerry took out his first pokéball. With the sound of chiming bells, Chingling materialized in the air, rocking back and forth from its strings like a pendulum.

Holding Goldeen’s pokéball aloft, Michael stepped back several feet. “You might want to move those,” he informed Bertha, indicating the luggage. “They could get wet.”

Bertha lifted an eyebrow. Smiling, Michael turned back to the battlefield and opened the pokéball. “Go!”

A spout of water shot out from the capsule, falling downwards into a crashing wave that washed over the floor of the Gym. Out came Goldeen, sliding down with the current like a gleaming bullet. The wave rolled on till it reached the center of the field, then suddenly split into two forked segments that looped around towards the walls, and gathered back into a single mass beneath the pokémon’s body.

Goldeen rose out from the elevated pool, the water splashing and cresting around her. Jerry stood still, visibly surprised at the elaborate display. When Goldeen’s head poked out of the water to face him, he whistled. “Huh. Now that’s creative. I can’t say I’ve seen that too many times before.”

Michael smirked. He glanced over to the bench, where Bertha had drawn up her feet in panic when the current had skimmed past. She looked first to the luggage, which was entirely unharmed, then to the mass of water that hung in the air, her lips parted. “That is creative. I just hope you know what you’re doing…” Knitting her brows, she took off her shoes and placed them beside her. Henry hid a laugh behind his palm.

Not waiting for Jerry to begin, Michael turned to his pokémon.“Goldeen, use Water Pulse!”

Goldeen narrowed her eyes and began to flap her fins. Suddenly, a chunk of water broke off from the whole and swooped up in a graceful arc, soaring through the air like a liquid comet. The jet swept Chingling right out of the air, swallowing the smaller mass and trapping it under its momentum. The comet fell, gathering speed, and crashed against the wall to Michael’s right, slapping Chingling against the surface like a bug.

Goldeen pulled the water back, sucking it from the walls and floor before it could ebb away, leaving Chingling to sink to the ground. The dazed and dripping pokémon struggled to regain balance, the weight of the droplets hampering its delicate flight. Before it could recover, Goldeen sliced at it with another watery projectile, this time catching Chingling from below and hurling it upwards. The pokémon sailed towards Jerry, who barely ducked in time as Chingling splattered the wall behind him.

Jerry spun around, but already the water had vanished, leaving Chingling in a stupor. Its sounds were flat and hoarse, and it bumped itself repeatedly against the wall as if trying to break it. He gritted his teeth. “Chingling, use Uproar!”

With a struggle, Chingling managed to pump itself over to the battlefield, but it seemed unfit to do much else. Wrestling with its own thoughts, Chingling produced a few strangled squeals, before the daze overtook its mind again, leaving it mute. On cue, Michael stepped forward to direct the killing blow. “Goldeen—Water Pulse with Horn Attack!”

Goldeen rolled over on her back, fins flapping, and another teardrop-slice of water smacked Chingling to the ground. Before the pokémon could get away, Goldeen thrust herself forward on a rushing wave and lowered her horn like a battle lance. She stabbed at Chingling with deadly speed, tossing it to and fro in the air, the water flying madly around her. When Chingling finally fell still, she swept it off on a wave, depositing the fainted bell at Jerry’s feet.

The leader looked down at his fainted pokémon, then up at the glistening sphere of water that towered before him. “Well then,” he mused. “Time to step up the game.” He swapped Chingling’s pokéball for another, and Gallade emerged onto the floor with a tumble, landing on one knee, baring his sword arm.

“Use Psycho Cut!”

Gallade sprang forward, his sword outstretched, the blade glowing with a devilish hue that was shocking in the dim light. Goldeen immediately went into defensive mode, shooting a jet of water at Gallade’s face to distract him, while pushing herself away with the rest of the tide. Gallade sliced his way through the water, the liquid hissing and curdling around him as he tried to reach his target.

“Goldeen, twist it!” Michael shouted.

Working her tail and fins, Goldeen gathered all the water behind her into a wave and pushed herself forward, traveling in a spiral around Gallade. The warrior twisted round and round, trying to locate Goldeen among the current, delivering several whizzing slices that shocked her out of rhythm, causing her to flutter her fins in panic. Gallade’s red eyes locked on their target, and he swung his blade, catching Goldeen right in the middle of her abdomen.

Goldeen fell out from beneath her support system, and the spiral began to collapse as she lost her grip on the water. Muttering a curse, Michael quickly opened the pokéball, sucking Goldeen and the water back inside again. Still, he had acted too late—a few precious drops remained behind, sinking away into the gravel.

Though flustered, Michael skated over his emotions for the time being. He swapped Goldeen’s pokéball with Caterpie’s, and the little bug landed squarely in the dirt.

“String Shot!” he ordered.

In the dim light, Jerry gave a single nod. “Gallade, use Confusion.”

A small whirring sound issued from Caterpie’s jaws, and a thin, spidery thread began to emerge from her mouth. Right then, Gallade began to send the invisible pulses that halted her mental processes, clouding them with white noise and vague whisperings. Caterpie began to slow in her tracks, her jaws clicking repeatedly as she met the strange force. Michael clenched his fists. “Don’t lose it!” he said, hoping that the tiny bug’s resolve would be stronger than Chingling’s. “Keep using String Shot!”

He head a faint snipping sound in reply, and saw a thin silver thread emerge from Caterpie’s jaws. It drifted in the air for a minute, then latched onto Gallade’s scales, holding fast. Caterpie worked her way around the pokémon’s foot, stopping here and there when the Psychic attack grew increasingly strong, but always started back up again. Michael felt a rush of relief as he watched his pokémon, which was followed by an almost humorous sense of irony, as the battler he had always thought to be the weakest managed to wrest herself out of Gallade’s mental grip.

Realizing that his repeated blows of Confusion weren’t working, Gallade began to swipe at his foot, trying to flick off the string. While he was busy, Caterpie clicked her jaws deviously and pulled, and Gallade came crashing down. Before he could do so much as move, Caterpie began to scurry around him, tying his legs and arms together so he couldn’t move.

“Now!” Michael shouted. “Bug Bite!”

Caterpie began to bite at Gallade’s skin, while the pokémon struggled in vain to get free. Once her special venom had seeped in through the tiny wounds, afflicting Gallade with a bout of shivers, Michael swapped Caterpie out of the field and sent out Goldeen. He tried to ignore the still-seeping gash in her scales, and after a couple rounds of Water Pulse, Gallade lay fainted.

Michael celebrated his victory with a small sigh as Jerry returned the pokémon. He glanced over to Goldeen, who was still keeping upright on her water pillow, though she looked more exhausted than before—evidently the injury from Psycho Cut was draining her energy.

I have to save her for last, he decided. If Goldeen fainted, he was as good as doomed. After some thought, Michael swapped pokéballs again, this time sending out Machop.

“Go.” He held the pokéball open and stepped back as Machop took the floor, landing on all fours. Slowly, the pokémon straightened, looking around the battle room in confusion, and then his big red eyes latched onto Michael.

“Over there,” Michael pointed. “Your opponent’s over there!” He pointed to where Mr. Mime had emerged from Jerry’s pokéball, the light fading to reveal his knobby form.

After taking a long look at the tip of Michael’s finger, Machop turned over to Mr. Mime. The tiny clown was doing his silent shuffle dance, pantomiming various shapes in the air with his hands.

“Mime, use Psychic!” Jerry ordered.

Mr. Mime pressed his fingers to his temples, and almost instantly, Machop’s eyes began to glaze over. He turned around the rest of the way and lowered himself onto his knees, watching Mr. Mime like a television screen.

“Avoid it!” Michael said. “Don’t let it get to you!” But he knew that his goading was useless. He had observed the same effect countless times before in the patio—any time someone used a Psychic move against Machop, he would either freeze up, trip over his own two feet in confusion, or simply be unable to use his full force for attacks. But those had been easy pokémon, and easy attacks. This time, Machop had plunged into full oblivion.

A smile turned the corners of Mr. Mime’s face, no doubt as he realized that his opponent was a piece of cake. He took one hand away from his head and lifted it out in front of him, bending the fingers as if to grasp the strings of a puppet. The white index finger twitched, and at the same time, one of Machop’s arms gently pushed out into the dirt. Then the other. Then, Machop was lying prone on his belly, his tongue lolling out from his mouth.

Mr. Mime twirled his hand around in the air, and Machop’s body obediently went to the left, rolling through the dirt like a fallen log. Just before he hit the wall, Mr. Mime switched directions, and Machop rolled the other way. The maneuver was more of a showing-off than anything; it seemed that Mr. Mime wanted to compensate for his lesser performance during Henry’s battle.

But Michael wasn’t impressed.

“Machop, get out of it!” he said. “Do you hear me? Get up!” He stepped forward till his shoes were touching the edge of the trainer’s boundary line. “Mr. Mime is messing with your mind! He thinks he’s tougher than you! Are you gonna take that lying down, or are you gonna be a man and defend yourself? I can’t hear you!”

Michael cupped his hand over his ear, and he heard Machop let out a tiny squeal. Mr. Mime continued his rolling for another few seconds, and then his strength seemed to ebb. He took in a breath to collect himself, and prepared to perform the attack anew.

In the interim, Machop’s eyes had fluttered open, and the pokémon had rolled over onto his feet. Knees wobbling, Machop advanced upon Mr. Mime, his hand curled into a veined fist. With a cry, he swung, striking his opponent across the nose.

Michael let out a laugh as Mr. Mime toppled back, hands splayed in shock. He fell back, then did an acrobatic flip and stood upright again.

“Mime, use Psybeam!” Jerry said.

Brow furrowed in definite anger, Mr. Mime pressed his forefingers to his temples. But before he had time to attack, Machop sent another hammering blow at Mr. Mime’s head, making him fall. Teeth bared and eyes dancing, Machop began to kick at the body furiously, once more possessed with rage. But this time, his battering wasn’t answered by surrender. Michael hadn’t expected it to be.

Mr. Mime grabbed hold of Machop’s foot mid-kick and pulled him down, blasting him with a pink Psybeam. The tube of light shattered as it hit Machop in the face, and the pokémon was pushed back, teetering like a tipsy ballerina. At last he fell, landing flat on his back, eyes rolled back in their sockets. Even from a distance, they seemed to be staring directly at Michael.

He felt little guilt, however; his desired effect was achieved. Mr. Mime was showing signs of tiring, as both Psychic moves had taken their toll. Without a word, Michael returned Machop and sent out Caterpie.

“Mr. Mime, use Doubleslap!” called Jerry, as the bug landed on the floor.

“Caterpie, String Shot and Bug Bite!”

Caterpie crawled forward, and as Mr. Mime advanced upon her, she launched a silver string that wrapped itself around his outstretched arm. She entangled his feet in a similar way, and when Mr. Mime finally lost his balance and toppled back, she tied together his arms. Caterpie began to bite, while Mr. Mime lay fidgeting, his face forming a series of impressive gestures of shock. It would have continued on for another good minute, but just then, Jerry’s voice sounded from the darkness.

“Mime, use Substitute.”

Seconds later, a loud pop filled the room, and the battlers were engulfed by a cloud of white smoke. When it cleared, Michael saw Caterpie scurrying around a motionless, woundless rubber body. Michael bit back an expletive. He had forgotten entirely about Mr. Mime’s special move; since Henry had brushed it off so easily, why not him? But once again, luck had failed him. It was time to think.

Off to the side, Jerry was smiling now, visibly pleased. He gave Michael a little nod, as if to say help yourself, since no attacks could harm his pokémon now. Michael did not hold the leader’s gaze for long. He looked down at Caterpie, and an idea came to him at last.

“Caterpie, use String Shot again,” he ordered. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Caterpie obeyed, and covered layer after layer of webbing around the doll, until it completely mummified. A round hole was spared for its face, which started out at the ceiling with frozen surprise. Once she was finished, Michael returned Caterpie and sent out Goldeen. The fish emerged in a cascading waterfall.

“Use Water Pulse!”

Goldeen sent forth a rushing wave and swept the Mime-mummy off the floor, putting it through a complicated series of maneuvers: slapping it against the wall, spinning it in midair, and thwacking it against the ground. The collisions were repeated until they had broken Mr. Mime’s concentration, and the pokemon reappeared in its place to absorb the impact. He bounced to and fro in his cocoon, growing increasingly woozy from the constant slapping at his sides, until finally he hung limp. Goldeen lowered him down, and Mr. Mime lay still amid a blanket of webbing.

Jerry looked at his pokemon in disbelief at first, then with a slow nod, returned him to his pokeball. “That was an interesting battle,” he said as Mr. Mime vanished. “Well done. I truly have never seen anyone utilize a Water pokémon like that before. I—” Jerry was cut off mid-sentence by a loud splash. Goldeen was beginning to sink with exhaustion, the tight sphere of water unraveling around her and sloshing towards the ground.

Jerry looked up. “You might want to—”

“Got it.” Michael took out his pokéball and returned Goldeen, sucking the water away.

Once the arena was clear, Jerry turned to address Michael again. “Well, there’s nothing much else I can say. You seem to have a pretty good grasp of what you’re doing, and you know how to make a good decision in the nick of time. You’re on the right path, so now it’s up to you to go the rest of the way.” He took the Relic Badge from his pocket and placed it into Michael’s hands, along with a few folded bills. Smiling, the Psychic leader inclined his head, and Michael returned to the benches.

Bertha rose, putting her shoes on and taking her luggage in hand. “We better get going now, boys. We have a train to catch.”

Michael packed away his things and went with Henry to the door. To his surprise, Jerry followed, holding it open for them.

“Wait, aren’t you going to battle someone else now?” Michael said.

Jerry shook his head. “Yours was my last battle for the evening. I’ll be closing up the Gym after this.”

“Speaking of closing Gyms,” Bertha said, “I finally made an agreement with the Gym Service Official earlier today.”

“Who’s that?” Henry asked.

“That’s the guy who watches over the eight Gyms of Sinnoh and makes sure they’re running smoothly,” Jerry said. “He’s my boss, and Bertha’s.”

“And,” Bertha continued, “since I don’t have a permanent facility to operate from, and the season’s still underway, I have two options: either relocate temporarily or close my Gym completely. I’ve been thinking about what to do for days, and I’ve finally settled on the second option. I’ll create a bypass, so that trainers coming from Oreburgh can go directly to Jerry’s Gym without my badge. My boss wasn’t too happy about that, but when I explained my petition, he let up a little. So sometime in the next few days, the League will make a public announcement, and trainers will be able to skip my Gym.”

“But that’s not fair!” Henry said. “Michael and I had to battle you, and so did a bunch of other people! And now all the other trainers can just skip?”

“Not just skip. Oh, no. The boss and I made a deal—he’ll allow me to take leave until the end of the season in December, and in the three-week margin before the local League tournaments begin, I’ll take a break from petition business and hold rematches for all the trainers that didn’t get to battle my Gym before.” Bertha took a deep breath, and let it out again. “It’ll be a lot of work, but with the knowledge that my petition is finally in the making, it’ll be a lot easier to handle.”

They entered the front lobby, and Jerry stopped them before the exit. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you both, boys,” he said to Michael and Henry, “and it’s been wonderful seeing you again, Bertha. You’ve given me quite a lot to think about with your petition, and I’ll try to help you out with the signatures if I can. If there’s ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

Bertha nodded. “Thanks a bunch. I can’t tell you how big a help you’ve been.” She met him in a hug, and then took Michael and Henry to the door. Jerry lingered in the lobby for a while, watching them, then silently disappeared into the throes of his Gym.

Outside, it was warm and dark. The parking lot stood in a giant puddle of light, empty save for a few scattered cars that gleamed under the glare of the lamps. As they climbed into the blue Buick, Bertha looked towards the backseat.

“Next stop, Solaceon,” she said. “I hope you’re on your guard, boys. It’ll only get harder from here.”

“Do you know who the Solaceon leader is, Bertha?” Henry said.

Bertha shrugged in reply. “I know it’s a woman, but other than that, there’s not much I can say. I’ve never met her. Jerry gave me the Gym’s number and directions, so we’ll find out soon enough. But whatever happens, I want you both to take the Gym seriously. I’d like to see more of what Michael did today: thinking. Got that?”

The boys nodded in unison, then turned their separate ways. The inside of the car was soothingly dark, the lights of the city striking in contrast. As the car began to move, Michael closed his eyes halfway and watched them blur. “I still don’t appreciate you guys packing and everything while I was getting ready,” he said to the silence. “I could’ve lost, you know.”

From the driver’s seat, he heard Bertha laugh. “Well, I knew you wouldn’t. Take it as a compliment.” In the rearview mirror, her eyes found him briefly before returning to the road. “You’re a smart kid, Michael. Don’t waste your talents.”

The city rolled past him in a blur, lights dancing hypnotically in the darkness.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ January 10th, 2012 5:55 AM

Better late than never for the review, right? Unfortunately this one will be short...

I actually used an old school typewriter once.... back in the elementary school library :P I don't even remember what I typed or for what, but I do remember using one...

Onto the battle... the description was a bit clearer, but I still had points where I couldn't visualize Goldeen and the water... maybe because the whole thing defies the very laws of physics and I do have a hard time with that sort of thing, lol. It seemed like a pretty clever strategy, and obviously it ended up working, but it just dawned on me that three of Michael's Pokemon have weaknesses to Flying types...he does need to get cracking on getting new Pokemon, lol

Of course when it came to water Pokemon, I had Lisa take the easy way out... use a Pokemon that could battle well on land. (And since my latest stories have been more about the car chases and gun fights anyway, the matter really is moot xD)

Actually I'm more interested in how Michael's article goes and the public reaction to it getting published. That's the thing I'm really looking forward to seeing.

Haruka of Hoenn January 11th, 2012 1:53 PM

The battle description was the best that I could make it. That's all. :P I'm glad you found it clearer this time around, but when I have time, I might go back again and see if there's anything else to fix.

It appears that the quest to achieve the perfect team is never-ending... Michael will definitely be catching more pokemon in the chapters to come, as well as becoming aware of more type combinations. There will also be more plot developments in relation to Michael's article in the upcoming chapters, so look out for that...

Thanks for stopping by, LeSabre! See you next time.

Haruka of Hoenn February 12th, 2012 6:25 PM

Hi everyone. Sorry for the wait. Here's Chapter 22!

2.2

Their departure from Hearthome was swift. After returning the Buick to the dealership, Bertha rented a taxi to the train station, where they passed the time before their train’s arrival by exploring the crowded terminals. It seemed that barely an hour had passed, and then Michael was seated in yet another compartment, looking out at yet another point of departure.

Bertha sat with them the whole ride this time, though there was little conversation among them. Michael occupied himself with an issue of the Pokémon League Weekly that he had brought along. He had dog-eared a page a couple days ago, and was rereading snippets from an article that had caught his eye: The New Championship.


… Indeed, how many of us can aspire to such lofty aims? The title we seek as trainers is quite possibly the most sought-after title in the country, that one single word that brings fortune and a level of notoriety second to none: Champion.

But what does Champion mean? During the course of League history, the title has been tossed around and charged with many different definitions. Around the 1800s, a champion was anybody who could beat their entire town’s population of trainers. Today, it is a trainer elevated above their entire country, one who defeats eight extraordinary battlers and then enters a grueling, winner-takes-all tournament against his peers who have done the same. The modern Champion is just as much a commodity as he is a symbol of determination. Upon his victory, the Champion finds that every trainer in the country has learned his name virtually overnight… and that the money he has earned as a prize is only a shadow of what may yet be to come. In a 1959 commentary, League official Robert Spielz called the Championship: “… the quickest route to influence in the world.” And indeed it is—while the Champion’s influence in League mechanics is restrained, their social power is profound. The Champion of 1957, Bob Gordon (who finally lost to Ricky Sheldon in 1960), managed to raise $200,000 to benefit underprivileged schools in 1959. The current Champion, Mr. Sheldon, is currently advocating to launch a Trainer School program, which will be a private, supplementary program for League-aspiring children of ages 7-10.

Nearly every single Champion in history has altered the job description during their reign. We long-time League fans often remember the early years, when Champions often reigned for eight years in a row, and when the talented, motivated newcomer was surprisingly hard to come by. Today, however, trainers pour into Gyms by the hundreds, some as young as eight or nine. Those young rookies are part of an entirely different generation, one where talent blossoms early, and will strengthens rapidly. Young trainers are faring better and better in the League Tournaments, so well in fact, that long-time League members are forced to face the possibility of a trainer younger than seventeen rising to the Final Four. Ricky Sheldon himself is the youngest Champion to date—he achieved victory at the age of twenty-one. Bob Gordon, in contrast, was thirty-three.

Before the decade closes, we might begin to see a new type of Champion emerge. The embarking nine-year-old’s fantasy of beating the Tournament might become reality sooner than he had hoped, when he rises through the ranks and finds himself on the hottest seat in the country…



Michael wasn’t sure at what point the words on the page began to blur, and when the lighting in the cabin became dim and murky to his eyes. After a while he simply crashed, slumping against the window of the train, arms crossed over his stomach. Henry and Bertha followed suit, each at different times.

For a long while, the trio slept, barely aware of the train’s vibrations. The black of the tunnel eventually vanished, exposing a beautiful, moonlit countryside. The train was speeding through miles of thick, untamed land, where not a single city structure was in sight.

An indefinite amount of time passed, and eventually, Michael grew aware of a tiny patch of light emerging from somewhere to his left. It grew increasingly bright, the train’s motor increasingly loud to his ears, and then he was finally brought awake by a light shake of his shoulder.

“You better wake up,” Bertha whispered. “We’ll be here soon.”

Michael rubbed open his eyes. When he looked out the window, he felt a sudden shock—the sun was rising over a rolling countryside, thriving with hills, trees, and running brooks. He pressed his nose against the glass, searching the landscape for any sign of civilization, but all he saw was the occasional house tucked away beneath a tree, or settled at the edge of a pasture. Hordes of Miltank were grazing in the unenclosed spaces, their tails swishing in the air. Some of them stood up on their hind legs as the train passed by, their curious eyes following the gleaming machine.

Great. Another farm town. Michael let out an inward sigh. He couldn’t wait to see what delights awaited him here.

The train came to a stop beside an enormous archway, which led into a sunny outdoor platform. Michael followed Henry and Bertha through the crowd, gazing up at the stone walls that enclosed the space, and the domed, tent-like roof that revealed a slip of blue sky at its peak. Though the interior of the train station was markedly less impressive than Hearthome’s had been, it wasn’t the barn house that Michael was expecting either—big windows and potted plants were juxtaposed with soda machines and newspaper stands that lined the walls, adding a comforting modern touch. The floor was made of a dark, rough wood that creaked freshly beneath Michael’s feet, as if it had been cut away from a tree only moments before. There were windows everywhere, providing an open view of the sprawling pastures around them. It was almost like walking past a mural—each window’s image was a continuation of the previous. The countryside was huge and low-lying, and reminded Michael of the pictures he often saw on packages of organic produce.

As he trailed behind his companions, trying to adjust himself to his surroundings, Michael became aware of the people who congregated around him, filing the terminal with voices and movement. The Solacians caught his eye at once. Their clothing was simple and conservative, which made even the calm, leisurely style of Hearthome seem flashy. Men wore vests and flannel shirts, and almost always jeans, as if they had just arrived from a long day of work at the farm. The women strolled around in dresses and frilly skirts, accentuating their long, shining hair with bows and ribbons. Even more peculiar was their speech, which was constrained by a light, yet striking accent Michael had never heard before. They contracted their words, rounded out their ‘r’s, and often used words from a local, unfamiliar slang, that made him feel as if he had stepped into a different world.

Aside from people, the station was also abundant in pokémon, who could often be seen peeking out from behind trash cans, or tamely snoozing in chairs, completely independently of their owners. Michael (who had instinctively grabbed the Stunky’s cage on his way out of the train) felt the pokémon shift about, obviously making a connection in its little Stunky brain. He gave the cage a light rattle, warning the pokémon not to get too excited. But at the same time, he couldn’t help but look around himself.

Bertha led them to the customer service desk, which was labeled as such by a paper sign. Behind it stood a young female clerk, who was stroking a Bidoof. Her russet hair was split into two pigtail braids that hung down her shoulders, and swayed cutely when she turned her head. “Hi ther’,” she said to them. “Can I help you?” Her voice had the same soft, summery feel as that of the other Solaceon women, though to Michael, hers seemed more pronounced. He caught her eye for a moment, then quickly looked away.

“Hi.” Bertha removed the note with the Gym’s address and slid it onto the counter. “Could you please tell me how far this would be from here?”

The lady examined the paper, her slender fingers tracing the lines. “Oh, you’re lookin’ for the Gym, aren’t you? Just go left from here, or north if you pr’fer, until you find the shopping center. It’ll be right ‘round there, next to the Pokémon Daycare.”

“Thanks,” Bertha said. “And what about a hotel?”

“Well, it d’pends what you’re lookin’ for, miss. ‘Course we’ve got Holiday Inn ‘n stuff downtown, but we don’t do much of the luxury here, if you know what I mean. We have a Trainer Hotel, but it’s booked up a lot nowadays, so not ev'rone can get in at first. If you wanta give it a try anyhow, it’s right ‘cross the street from the Gym. You can’t miss it.”

Bertha thanked her, and promptly made her way towards the exit door. Michael looked up at the lady again before he left, and saw her smile at him. It was a warm smile... and a pretty one. Michael decided that he just might like Solaceon after all.

They followed the lady’s directions into the marketplace, which, as he guessed, was the thriving city center. But town continued to defy his earlier assumptions: it had a much more modern street plan than Eterna, and sleek, simple buildings whose colors blended warmly with the landscape. The roadways were paved and marked with vehicles in mind, and Michael often saw the old car models he was familiar with cruising with their windows rolled down. The lack of skyscrapers and view-blocking trees made way for the full expanse of the sky, which was like a breath of fresh air after the towering city.

The familiar shape of the Trainer’s Hotel appeared within a circular plaza of shops and outdoor cafés, teeming with people and pokémon alike. The hotel was distinguished, as always, by its enormous sign, but the rest of its outer appearance was adjusted to match the scheme of the neighboring buildings. It had a flat, brown roof, and framed windows.

Inside, it was just as unrecognizable—the floor was made of the same dark wood of the train station, and the walls were colored a light tan, adorned with paintings framed in brass. A small sitting area stood in a corner by the entrance, furnished with leather couches and armchairs. It was occupied by a motley gathering of trainers, all doing trainerly things like badge-cleaning and writing in journals. A few of them looked up at the new arrivals, but for the most part they minded their own business, avoiding each other’s eyes. No one was talking. In fact, as Michael looked around the room, he became aware of the strange, pervading silence that hung over the lobby, as if everyone was anticipating some great disaster.

There was one trainer standing at the front counter when the trio approached. His back was turned. He was having a whispered conversation with one of the clerks, while the second was sorting files in a huge cabinet behind her. She wore a dress as well, though her hair was pulled back into a practical bun. Hailing the clerk with a wave, Bertha proffered her I.D. “Hello. I’d like to rent two rooms, please. One with a trainer discount for the boys.”

The attendant shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re all booked. We have a half-size room op’n, but it’s designed f’r only one person.”

Bertha frowned. “Hmm. Do you know if any other hotels in the city offer special accommodations for trainers?”

“In terms of services, no. The things we offer as a League hotel can’t be provided by a regular chain. But in terms of prices, I’m not sure. You’ll have to check with the establ’shments themselves.”

Bertha tapped the counter, casting her gaze over to the wall. She began to reply, but at that moment, the trainer beside them turned around, tilting his cap away from his face. “Uh, Miss? I’m checking out. I had a regular room, so, if you want I could give it to you…” He looked at Michael and Henry.

“That would be great,” Bertha said, smiling. “The boys can the regular room, and I’ll take the half.”

The clerk nodded. “Alright then.” She processed their order, and placed two gold keys on the counter.

Michael turned to the trainer, who was just preparing to leave, tightening the strap of his messenger bag. “Thanks, man,” he said.

The trainer nodded, taking a deep breath. “Good luck,” he said. “You’ll need it…” Pushing his cap over his eyes, he hurried out of the lobby, letting the glass doors swing shut behind him. Michael turned to Henry, and saw the same confused look reflected in the boy’s face.

At that moment, a couple of hotel workers arrived to take their luggage up to their rooms. Bertha placed the keys into her purse and zipped it closed. “We’re going to visit the Gym now,” she said to the boys. “It shouldn’t be long. Everything will be ready for us when we get back here, so you don’t have to worry about your stuff.”

“So we won’t be going up yet?” Michael said. He had been hoping to unwind a bit after the journey, or at least unpack. But Bertha shook her head.

“Nope. Sorry. I made a specific appointment with her, and it’ll look bad if I’m late. But don’t worry. I won’t bother you two for the rest of the day. Promise.”

Michael knew better than to complain, so he nodded and stood silent. He handed off the Stunky’s cage to one of the workers, and Henry helped it into his arms.

“Easy there,” the man said. He looped his arm through the handle of a luggage bag and grabbed the cage with both hands. The Stunky shifted around noisily.

“Have fun on your own,” Henry said, stroking the pokémon’s head through the bars. As the crew walked off, he turned to Michael. “We should get him a pokéball one of these days. Then we can stop carrying him around in that dirty cage.”

Before Michael could reply, Bertha cut in. “All right boys, we’re heading out. Come on.”

With Bertha leading the way, they left the hotel. As promised, the Gym stood right across the street, just a couple of buildings down. At the first glance, it looked more like a community center than a place of heated competition. The building’s main body was large and square, with a brown shilling roof and an inscription reading ‘SOLACEON GYM’ carved into the stone. Most of the building’s mass was stretched out in the form of two long hallways, which embraced the street on its either side like a pair of arms. The hallways were lined with tall, rectangular windows that reflected the glare of the rising sun. The building had no parking lot; instead a sidewalk sufficed, by which a constant crowd of trainers walked to and fro. Even from the outside, the building looked full to bursting.

They stood in front of the entrance for a moment, peering up at the carved inscription.

“I wonder who the leader will be,” Henry said. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Me too…” Michael sighed. “What do you think—blonde or brunette?”

Henry jerked around, his expression shocked. But a moment later, he began to laugh.

“What?” Michael chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re not thinking it too.”

“Thinking what?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Hey.” Bertha snapped her fingers in front of their faces. “Focus. I don’t want you going in there with any ideas. You’re here to battle, not get dates.” Stepping in front of them, she pushed open the doors. Inside, the lobby resembled the entrance to a karate dojo, or some sort of sports center. There was the same wooden floor, the same cream-colored walls, only this time there were no decorations whatsoever, just flat planes of color. Several wooden benches were spaced across the room, hosting a chattering mass of trainers, who were digging through their backpacks and feeding their pokémon.

The room was dominated by a vast front desk that took up a good portion of the opposite wall. The doors on its either end were forever opening and closing as a trainer scurried forth from the inner rooms, a wayward pokémon emerged on a trail of scent, or a staff member backed out with an armful of boxes. Michael immediately recognized the Gym staff as separate from the crowd: they all wore matching collared shirts and pants (skirts for the ladies), and name tags that were clipped to their shirt pockets.

Amid the hubbub, three clerks manned the counter, their heads constantly bent over one task or another. They switched from phone calls to digging through files to greeting trainers, of which there seemed to be no shortage. As Michael looked around, he saw them spilling through the doors and peeking through the windows, like so many ants trying to wheedle into a hole.

Though he searched thoroughly, he couldn’t find any sign of a type preference. There weren’t any posters taped to the walls, nor were there any plaques bearing the Gym leader’s slogan. Moreover, the town itself did not suggest anything to him—all the others he visited had at least resembled the types their Gyms worked with. Oreburgh, the mining town, obviously had a Rock Gym. The quaint landscape of Eterna turned out to be a likely source for Bertha’s Grass preference. Even Hearthome, with all its towering grandeur, had somehow complemented the unpredictable Psychic type that Jerry loved. But the best he could give Solaceon at this moment was Normal… which, if he was correct, would make the Gym even more beatable than he had originally hoped.

Maybe that’s why there are so many people here, Michael thought.

Once the crowd around the front desk had diminished somewhat, Bertha led the boys forward and hailed the nearest attendant. One of the ladies turned to them, looking frazzled, but nevertheless patient. “Hello. Name please?”

Bertha slid forward her Leader I.D. “Bertha Herrida, Eterna Gym. I have an appointment with Ms. Walker.”

The attendant looked down at the card and nodded. “Ah. Welcome, Miss Herrida. She’s been expectin' you.” Moving swiftly, she stepped out from behind the counter and led them through one of the back doors. The hallway Michael now faced seemed to stretch out to infinity, like the belly of a huge worm. The wooden floor was replaced by a red carpet, which was stained and trampled from years of wear. The battle room doors were lined up on either side of him, much like it had been in the Hearthome hotel, only here there seemed to be dozens, maybe even hundreds… and that was only one wing of the building.

The sounds of battling filled Michael’s ears as he walked. He watched the numbers on the doors slide by, until finally, the attendant stopped beside one labeled ‘47’, and entered.

Inside, the battle room was sunny and spacious. The back wall was almost totally taken up by the window, which had seemed so small from the outside, but was now large and revealing. The floor was entirely covered in tumble mats, much like battle rooms in Oreburgh had been, though here there was clearly no space for spectators.

As he advanced inside with the others, Michael saw that they had walked in on the middle of a battle—a Bidoof was tearing at a Prinplup with its claws, its buck teeth bared in a feral snarl. The stereotypically tame pokémon had turned into a monster, rolling around with its opponent, growling in response to the Prinplup’s feeble attempts at self-defense.

The trainers, equally tense, stood at either end of the unmarked battlefield, watching the relay, shouting frantic commands. Above the confused din, a third, female voice rang loud and clear:

“Give your directions with meaning! With purpose! Your pokémon know what they’re doing—it’s up to you to guide them, not command them!”

The speaker was a young, slim woman. Michael noticed her before the trainers themselves, partly because of her stance—it was clearly authoritative, right at the center of the action. Her hair was short and dark-brown, completely braid free, and never seemed to get in her face. She wore the same uniform as the other staff, but with a strange addition: a soft pink jacket was tied around her waist, in an almost childlike fashion, swooshing around with her skirt as she jumped between the battlers. Her commands blended in with those of the trainers, just as much directing them as they were the pokémon.

The Bidoof’s slashes intensified, and the Prinplup’s trainer, a young girl, seemed pressed to give a command to her weakening pokémon. She fumbled for words, but nothing issued from her moving lips.

“Now!” the woman called.

Spurred by her goading, the girl blubbered a command. “Prinplup, use Metal Claw!” Her shout vanished in the pokémons’ cries. The Prinplup ignored her orders, and instead went into defensive mode, placing its large fins over its head.

The woman’s hawklike eyes darted away from the battling pokémon and once again found the trainer. She approached in two swift steps, leaning over the girl’s shoulder. “I want to hear you, Abigail. A soft voice betrays soft will.”

The girl gulped. At that moment, the attendant cleared her throat, and the lady looked up at the group of people gathered by the door. Her eyes narrowed.

“Ma’am, I have Miss Herrida here for you.” The attendant stepped away, and simultaneously Bertha advanced to the head of the group.

The woman gave a nod of acknowledgment. Stepping onto the battle space, she held up her hands to the trainers. “Stop. Send back your pokémon and meet at the center of the field. I’ll be right back.”

The trainers did as they were told. Both pokémon vanished into their capsules, frozen in their battle stances. In the corner of his eye, Michael saw evident relief spread over Abigail’s face.

The woman approached, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Thank you, Mary,” she said to the attendant. “You may go.”

The attendant bowed her head and left the room. Turning to Bertha, the woman extended a delicate hand. “Welcome to my Gym. My name is Lona Walker.”

The Solaceon accent was entirely absent from her voice. If he hadn’t known any better, Michael would have assumed that he was still back in Hearthome. After the brief culture-shock he had experienced at the train station, and his hopeful speculating that the leader would turn out to be a cute, bubbly woman with extra-long braids, this was an almost disorienting letdown. There was no trace of Solaceon City in Lona Walker’s straight, businesslike face. None at all.

If Bertha had felt any surprise at all, she did not show it. “Thank you,” she replied. “As you probably know, I’m here strictly on business terms. Has Jerry told you about my petition?”

“He told me the main points, but I was waiting to hear more from you about it,” said Lona.

“Basically, I want the government to cut at least thirty percent of Team Galactic’s funding and give that money to the League. We’ve been losing money to them, and it’s resulted in many of our resources dwindling. If it continues, then the League will likely lose its priority in Sinnoh’s culture, and will no longer be able to provide a quality service to trainers. For my petition to go through, I officially need at least one hundred thousand signatures from Sinnoh citizens, though I’m going for more. And I’m also collecting a separate signature pool from League officials, and possibly people connected to the Space Program itself. I want the President to see that it’s not just one group of people who cares about this issue, and will benefit from the petition’s success.”

Lona listened with pursed lips, and at the end of Bertha’s speech, she knit her fine brows. “Hmm. I must say, that’s very resourceful of you. But do you think that something as simple as a petition will be enough to change the government’s mind?”

Bertha gave a half-smile. “Right now, it’s all we have.”

Lona nodded. “Okay. We’ll discuss this.” At that point, she lowered her gaze to the boys, who had been listening in on the conversation. She looked first to Henry, sizing him up from hat to sneakers, then moved on to Michael. Their eyes locked as if by accident; Lona’s were a dark, beady brown, and in the split second that he held contact, Michael felt a sudden chill run down his spine.

Those were the eyes of a teacher.

“Have you brought them here to challenge my Gym?” asked Lona. She blinked once, then slowly turned her head to face Bertha. Bertha nodded.

“This is Michael Rowan and Henry McPherson,” she said, indicating them in turn. “They’re both good trainers, and they’re willing to do whatever it takes to succeed.”

“Very good,” said Lona. She turned again to the boys. “Welcome to my Gym. I can already tell that you both have overcome many challenges as trainers to get here. I know that it’s so, because otherwise you wouldn’t be standing in this room. But the journey isn’t over. You still have a long road ahead of you, and if you want to see it to the end, you must be diligent and decisive.” She clasped her hands in a ladylike gesture and continued. “Now, I’m aware that my facility isn’t the biggest, nor the hardest. You’ve probably thought more about how you’re going to enter the Elite Four tournament than how you’re going to defeat the fourth Gym leader of the League. It might be easy. It might not. But the thing I want to make clear is that it’s not my job to give you a hard time here—rather, it’s my goal to make sure that you learn, and that you walk away from this Gym with more than just a token to challenge the next one. I want all my trainers here to learn two things: discipline and technique. One cannot exist without the other. Here, you will learn the value of physical attacks, and how properly conditioning yourselves and your pokémon can be the difference between success and failure in a battle. And if you’re a real trainer, then for you, failure won’t be an option.”

Pausing, Lona reached into a pocket of her jacket and took out out a notepad and pencil. She began to scribble at a rapid pace. “Your first lesson will be discipline,” she said. “Starting tomorrow, I want you both to report to this Gym each morning at seven o’clock for training. No excuses. If you come late, you’re dismissed. When you arrive, you will each be paired off with another trainer who will be your battle partner for the day. You will battle with them at least twice, and observe their technique. They will observe yours. Your battles will all be refereed, either by myself or by one of my staff, and it is their job to oversee the battle and direct its course of action if flawed. The goal of these battles is not to win or lose, but to master the skill of battling itself. The referee will watch over the match and tell you what you and your pokémon need to improve on. Sometimes you may receive input from your opponent. Other times you may feel like inputting them. Your progress will be recorded by your referees, and when you are deemed ready, you will be able to enter the next round of battles, in which you will be battling the staff members themselves. They use pokémon similar to mine. The battles will get progressively harder, but if you fare well, then soon enough you’ll reach the end of the road—me. However, before you begin, I will have you know that I always split up groups. That means Henry won’t be battling against Michael. Got that?”

Michael nodded stiffly. His eyes had gone dry from lack of blinking.

“Good.” Lona pocketed the notebook and handed two identical papers to the boys. Michael looked over what she had written, and felt a growing queasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. They would be going through five days of nonstop training sessions, each with the same unearthly arrive time, after which they would either advance to the staff battles, or repeat the whole thing again. Either way, he would be stuck in Solaceon for a long, long time.

Michael folded the note twice and pocketed it, hoping that once it was out of his sight it would be gone forever. Henry was still reading his, rocking on his heels as if ready to tip over.

Lona did not say another word to them. She stepped towards the door, curling her index finger in Bertha’s direction, indicating for the woman to follow. “Miss Herrida, if you would please come with me. I will show you to my office.”

Bertha and the boys went to follow, but when they reached the door, she stopped them, putting her hands on their shoulders. “You both can roam around here while I’m gone,” she said. “But don’t leave the building. Okay?” She gave them a reassuring pat, and went with Lona down to the end of the hallway.

Once the pink jacket was well out of sight, Michael turned to Henry and let out a long, grumbling sigh. “Damn it. What a drag… it’s like school all over again.” He took out the crumpled note from his pocket and read over the perfect, handwritten lines. “Seven in the morning. Each freaking day. And we have to battle a bunch of random dweebs who’re gonna try to correct us, too. Who does that chick think she is anyway?”

Henry gave a dispirited shrug. “Well, it’ll be like training, won’t it?”

“Uh, no it won’t. I train my own way, thanks. And that’s by coming up with a meaningful type-based strategy, not by using physical fitness or whatever and hoping that I’ll win. Dammit…” Michael shoved the note back into his pocket and quickened his pace towards the lobby, letting his anger churn inside him like a storm. Henry followed in his wake, jumping aside whenever a door opened, or when a young trainer pushed past.

“At any rate, what do you think her type is?” Michael said, calling back to the general space behind him. “I’m thinking it’s Normal.”

Henry’s reply came a moment later. “Mmmm… I don’t know. Fighting, maybe?”

“Could be. But she seems a bit delicate for that, don’t you think? Being a girl and all.” He snickered.

Henry smiled. “I dunno… she was yelling pretty hard at those trainers back there. She reminds me of one of my teachers, actually.”

“Pfft. She reminds me of all of mine,” Michael cringed. “And my teachers were a pain in the ass…”

They reached the lobby, which was the same full house it had been five minutes ago. Michael began to look for a place to sit, when by chance, his eyes found the front counter again. A new face had joined the scene: It was a boy who looked to be about their age, wearing a miniature version of the staff uniform. He was carrying a stack of clipboards in his arms, which he set down onto the counter and began to arrange, his messy hair splaying to and fro. Through the gaps in the curls, Michael saw a familiar pair of glasses.

“Leroy?” Michael approached the counter, eyes perked with disbelief. The boy looked up at the sound of his name, and when he saw Michael, his face brightened. “Oh, hey! Man, this is like the fourth time this week I’ve seen someone I know here. I swear, this Gym has everyone.” Leroy shook his head. He leaned over, putting his elbows on the table. “So how’ve you two been? Last I saw, you were leaving Oreburgh.”

“We just got here,” Michael said. “We’ve already beaten Eterna and Hearthome, so now we’re working to beat our fourth.”

“Wow.” Leroy rubbed his chin. He studied Michael and Henry with new interest, like a pair of intriguing lab specimens. “You guys are really sweeping through. Three badges in two weeks is pretty good. It’s more than what a lot of trainers here can say. Are you still collecting that… uh…” he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Data?”

Michael grinned. “Yeah. We’ve gotten loads. It helped us pull through every time.”

“So you’ve been coming up with counters for all the types?”

Michael and Henry nodded in unison. Leroy seemed pleased. “That’s really cool. It’s almost like you’re doing research on pokémon training. It’s a shame no one’s bothered to do anything like that before. I think the League would be a lot easier if trainers knew how to prepare properly.”

“Yeah…” Henry murmured. “So, what about you? Are you still filling your PokéDex?”

Leroy nodded. “I got past the second mark last week—one-hundred species. Our next one is one-fifty, which’ll be due by the end of the month. I have one-twenty-eight. I’d show you, but I can’t right now ‘cause I’m on duty.”

“Duty?” Michael looked at Leroy’s uniform again. “What, are you a staff member now?”

Leroy let out a laugh. “Yeah, I wish. But no, I’m just volunteering here in my free time. You know, why not? I help out with the records and stuff, and in return, the staff give me info to fill my database.”

Michael brightened. “So you know what pokémon the leader has?”

Leroy nodded, pursing his lips, but before Michael could ask, he held up a finger to silence him. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he stepped out from behind the counter, and beckoned Michael and Henry towards the exit door. He led them outside, where he rounded the corner of the building to a secluded tree hidden beneath the Gym’s shadow. After scanning the vicinity once more, Leroy turned to the boys and leaned close to speak. “Okay. I can’t tell you a lot right now, because this building’s got ears. First thing’s first: Lona’s type is Fighting. That means that her whole Gym sticks to physical moves, and the staff’s pokémon are really fast and strong and stuff. So when the staff tell you that physical conditioning is important, they mean it. But their weakness is that their pokémon rarely use any other types of moves, and judging from the battles I’ve watched, they don’t know a lot of them. That leaves them really vulnerable to other attacks.”

“Like Flying and Psychic, maybe?” Michael said.

Leroy gave him a thumbs-up. “Spot on. From what I’ve seen, those do the most damage.”

“And what about Lona’s pokémon?” Henry said. “Do you know what they are?”

“She has a Hitmonlee, a Croagunk, a Hitmonchan, and a Machoke.” Leroy tallied the names with his fingers. “Croagunk is Poison type too, though, so you’ll have to be careful when it jabs you. But it’s really weak to Psychic, and by that I mean really. You shouldn’t have a problem if you just keep hitting it hard with Confusion.”

“But do you know how she battles, though? Like how she gives commands and stuff? Because she said technique was really important.”

Leroy shook his head. “I never got to watch her, they only let me see the staff battles. But they use the same pokémon that Lona does, so I’d assume that as long as you’ve got the right counters, you’re good. And remember—I’m a registered researcher, not a trainer, so they tell me a bunch of stuff that they wouldn’t to someone like you.”

Michael let out a breath, already feeling reassured by their friend’s help. “Good,” he said. “The last thing I need is for her to give me trouble… This Gym is enough of a pain as is.”

Leroy gave a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, a lot of people say that. But don’t worry—it might seem like it’s hard, but Lona knows that she can’t keep the trainers here forever. The goal of the Gyms is to get people moving, so even if you’re not the best of the best, she’ll let you pass. I think the reason she gives her trainers the whole ‘discipline’ treatment is to keep them scared of goofing off.”

Michael nodded. At that point, Leroy backed away from the tree, adjusting his name tag. “Well, I gotta go. I can’t stay out for too long or I’ll get in trouble. Did Lona give you a schedule?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “We have to report to the Gym tomorrow at seven in the morning.”

“Okay. Can you guys meet me here when you get out? I’ll be able to give you more info.”

“Sure thing,” said Henry. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it. See you guys later.” With a wave, Leroy went off towards the building. Once he was gone, Henry turned to Michael, and by way of companionship, let out a sigh. “Well, here it goes. What do you think?”

Michael was leaning against the trunk of the tree, hands stuffed in his pockets. He took a long look at the courtyard around them, immersing his gaze in the pale stone of the Gym’s walls. “Think about what?” he replied.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. The Gym. I hope we’ll be able to beat it.”

“What do you mean? Of course we’ll beat it.”

“Lona looks pretty tough, though,” Henry said. “She kind of scared me. Just a little, I mean. When she was directing the battle it was like she was a coach, not just a trainer... I think Bertha was right when she said it would only be getting harder from here.”

“Relax. You listen too much.”

“Yeah, but this time I really think she means business. I mean, there wouldn’t be such a huge crowd here if people could just beat this place after two days, right? And Lona looks pretty confident.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Please. You think I haven’t dealt with people like her before? They’re all the same. Teachers, Gym leaders… they act like they’re all that because they’ve never met their match. No one’s ever come along who doesn’t fall for their tricks. And Lona, I bet she’s just never met a good trainer before. She has this whole philosophy about what training is and how battling should be, and she wants to shove it down our throats. That’s why she’s so confident. Sure she’s been beaten before, but she’s probably never been beaten badly by someone who challenged her ideas. But that’s about to change.” He crossed his arms with finality, looking out at all the trainers that thronged the outside of the building. Their faces and voices blurred into a single chorus in the morning haze. Feeling a sense of assertion rise within him, Michael smiled. “I’m telling you, this Gym won’t know what hit it.”



//////



The door to Lona’s office closed with a thud, and silence rushed back to fill Bertha’s surroundings.

She was now standing inside a bright, quaint study, far removed from the outside commotion both in atmosphere and design. The walls were a light, soft brown, the furniture matching the wood of the floor. Books of all sorts were stacked neatly in shelves, which bore numbered labels, and a clock above the door quietly ticked away the minutes. Bertha’s mind immediately associated the room with her mother’s house, which had always been cozy and orderly, and had everything in its proper place. The memory made her relax a little, and gave the Gym an almost welcoming feel.

After making sure that the door was firmly shut, Lona brushed past, stepping around to a large desk that stood by the window. While her back was turned, Bertha couldn’t help but stare at the jacket again; it had been bugging her from the very beginning. It was as if a huge pink monster had wrapped its arms around Lona’s tiny waist, making her look like a clunky, awkward child. The fabric had an old, ragged look that stood in sharp contrast to the rest of her crisp, laundered attire. Lona had clearly owned it for years, but had either been unable or unwilling to replace it.

She took a seat behind the desk, spreading the jacket around her like a skirt, and motioned Bertha to a nearby chair. “Mr. Bradford did tell me enough about your petition to get me wondering about the source of your idea. Please, sit down.”

Bertha sat, placing the briefcase into her lap. Lona opened a small record book and jotted down some notes, and while she did, Bertha took a brief look around the room again. This time, her eyes alighted upon something new—a TV had been shoved into a corner behind a bookshelf, a spot that had been completely obscured from the entrance. It was an old, bulky model with a dusty screen, and like the jacket, it too looked like it hadn’t been accounted for in years.

Finishing her last sentence, Lona closed the journal and leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. “What I’m most eager to know about is your mentality, Miss Herrida. What made you want to do this in the first place?”

Bertha took a breath. “It started last June, when Team Galactic put up a factory in my hometown. I was skeptical from the beginning, but it wasn’t until I noticed how much harm it was doing the local environment that I began to investigate it. Being a Gym leader, I certainly noticed how the League’s quality of services was dwindling over the years. I’ve been trying to get a Gym facility built in Eterna ever since I became a leader, but since the town couldn’t provide enough money, I had to rely on the League to help me out. But even after a year, the Gym Office couldn’t promise me a solid amount. They offered for Eterna to purchase in credit, but I didn’t want to put the town at such a risk, so I declined. It seemed that the League had the money, but just didn’t want to use it for some reason.”

Lona’s gaze remained fixed on Bertha. “And what about Team Galactic?”

“I didn’t connect the dots until the factory got put up,” Bertha said. “It seemed odd to me how, while the League was in decline, the Space Program seemed to be thriving. So I began to research the federal budget, and found out that the government had been steadily cutting funds from the Pokémon League every year and giving the money instead to Team Galactic, which, according to the charts, has almost doubled its prowess over the country since 1958. Our factory was a direct consequence of that increase in funding. Now, it probably wouldn’t have bothered me as much if the factory had just quietly gone about its business, but after seeing firsthand what it did to the town…” Bertha paused, “and after seeing firsthand what Team Galactic’s concept of ‘management’ is, I’m certain that any other factory built under Galactic’s name is likely to be in the same sloppy hands. And while all this is happening, the League is being stifled. Our funds have been cut at an increasing rate every year, and if this isn’t stopped soon, then future generations might not even know what a Gym is.”

Lona began to nod, though the gesture seemed more directed at the empty space than at the woman sitting in front of her. “I see… I see that you have a genuine concern. But if I may make a few suggestions, I think you will find that there could be an easier way to go about doing this. For example, instead of trying to take away funding from another source, why not just ask the government to change the League’s budget into a more productive one? The way I see it, Gyms are allowed to spend far too much money on decorations, and aren’t obliged to provide a uniform quality of service to trainers. Some, I’ve heard, serve as nothing more than pit stops, and are more concerned about pushing their trainers on into the next city than whether or not they actually improve their skills. An abundance of money is not necessary to fulfill such a basic requirement of the facility.”

Bertha shifted in her seat. Of course, in an indirect way, Lona was talking about her Gym. But what was she supposed to have done? What could she have done?

Gathering her thoughts again, Bertha continued. “I understand. And in due time, I’m sure we’ll be able to take it further and change the League’s policy as well. But right now, our main concern should be Team Galactic. That’s what’s hindering our progress, and as long as we remain in second place, the results of inner reform will be minimal. The Gym towns themselves are suffering. I’ve corresponded with both Byron and Jerry, and I’ve heard secondhand accounts about Pastoria’s Gym, and they all say that they’re feeling the loss of money. Pardon the question, but hasn’t your Gym been experiencing any loss of... well… abundance recently?”

Lona twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger, and neatly smoothed it back into place. “Not particularly. The only real loss that I would say has caught my attention is the amount of trainers that drop out of my Gym. It seems that many of the entrants perceive the circuit as a one-way-ticket to glory in the Elite Four tournament. But then of course, when they are proven wrong, they begin to whine and complain that things aren’t going their way, and go back home. But I assure you, that is a loss I am perfectly happy to deal with. Not all pokémon trainers are meant for the League.”

“And for the ones that are?” Bertha said.

A faint, thoughtful smile crossed Lona’s face. “There have been a few that stood out at me in previous years. Of course, I know how to separate the good from the bad, the hardworking from the lazy. Unfortunately, I get a lot of lazy trainers… so I make it my job to do what the Gyms before me don’t, or can’t.”

Bertha knit her eyebrows. “Exactly. Take my Gym for example, which I admit is much less productive than yours. For one thing, as I have said before, it’s been in an inconvenient situation in the previous years. I’ve had to give my trainers a speedy run—either win, or leave fast. It’s not only for me, but for their health. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I do. However, I don’t believe that you should automatically declare any one thing to be the source of your problems. Yes, the League is losing money. Yes, I have had to make some monetary decisions that have recently affected my Gym’s operation. But what I understand, and what I think you should understand too, Miss Herrida, is that this is only a temporary thing. Ten years ago, the Space Program was barely mentioned. Now it’s on the forefront of the government’s mind, so there must be a good reason for it. Whatever they’re trying to accomplish will likely be attained within the decade, and by then the government will be able to restore us to even ground.”

“All right, but even if your prediction is correct, who’s to say that this ‘decade’ won’t put us through even more budget cuts? It took Team Rocket a good three years to send that satellite up to the moon. I know it’s kind of a stretch to compare the two, but I think it’s highly unlikely that anything Team Galactic plans will take any less time. And if you think that the Space Race will be ending any time soon… then you’re wrong.” Bertha folded her hands in her lap and gave a matter-of-fact shrug.

“But there’s no way of knowing what Team Galactic is up to, if anything at all,” Lona reminded her.

Bertha dipped her head into a nod. “I agree. And it would be a lot easier to speculate if we actually knew what the Galactics are doing, but since we don’t, I think it would be prudent to ask this of the government now. Not because I’m wondering whether it will happen or not, but so that it won’t happen. Sitting idly is too big a risk, and frankly, I value the League too much to be pushing my luck like that.” She braced herself for Lona’s next counter, but when her words were met with silence, Bertha went on. “The Space Race is here. It’s not going away anytime soon. The League can either sit back and watch what happens, or it can take a stand to make sure it won’t get left behind. Not to pressure you or anything, but as a Gym leader, your contribution is vital to that goal.”

Lona placed her elbows on the table and ran her fingers through her hair. After a long silence, she closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “I’ll think about it.”

Bertha pursed her lips. “If you’re still not convinced, Miss Walker, then I—”

“Miss Herrida, I said I’ll think about it.”

Something in her cold, snappy tone indicated that there would be no more questions, no further discussion. Bertha felt as if she had been slapped in the face. The very air seemed to chill. She stared blankly at Lona, who continued to look down at the table with a restrained half-grimace, as if she had been deeply offended by something. Then, calmly, she reached for a piece of notepaper and scrawled a small time chart with her pencil. “You may visit on the following days if you have anything else to add. Good day.”

Lona pushed the paper forward, and simultaneously turned her chair away towards the window. Bertha mutely took the notecard and got up to leave, awkwardly smoothening her skirt. It was the first time she had ever been kicked out of a room so blatantly, like an unruly child, and the gesture filled her with incredulous defiance. It only intensified when she realized that there was nothing she could do about it.

As she pushed open the door, Bertha turned around, meaning to give some sort of retort, or perhaps affirm herself that it had all been a misunderstanding. But even if she had managed to find the right words, Lona wouldn’t have noticed. The Gym leader had picked up the coffee mug that had been sitting at the edge of her table, and was sipping quietly as if nothing had happened.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ February 13th, 2012 2:15 PM

Quote:

Great. Another farm town.
Yeah, I hear him... living in a hick town out in the middle of nowhere sucks the big one...

Quote:

The women strolled around in dresses and frilly skirts, accentuating their long, shining hair with bows and ribbons.
Lisa approves of this fashion style :)

Quote:

‘Course we’ve got Holiday Inn ‘n stuff downtown
Yeah, I vowed never to stay at one of those after they tried to rip us off out of over $200... on two separate occasions.

God, I had a professor like Lona... worked the class to the bone, no sense of humor, didn't listen to any opinion not his own... I didn't think holding trainers over for a week was permitted, tbh. In any event, right now I don't like her and I think she's a prick. But that's okay... every story needs an annoying prick or two... mine had the nerd that challenged Lisa to all those math battles :P

Quote:

Some, I’ve heard, serve as nothing more than pit stops, and are more concerned about pushing their trainers on into the next city than whether or not they actually improve their skills.
Y'know, maybe if Bertha had a regular GYM and, I dunno, dedicated OVERNIGHT ACCOMODATIONS, she wouldn't have to rush trainers along. being a bit hard on her, perhaps?

Though one thing keeps concerning me. If the league has such a budget shortfall, why don't they cut back on the hotels. Sure, trainers need a place to stay, but the league's providing Sheraton levels of accomodations when all trainers need are basic, Red Roof Inn type lodging. Even Lisa would normally stay at more modest Sleep Inn and Quality Inn type places.

Oooh, Michael's got insider information! Wonder how much more data Leroy has collected. And what Lona's... unique... style of training is and how our plucky protagonists are going to deal with the situation. What worries me more is that Lona seems like the type who might do some background checks on Michael and Henry... she just has that attitude and now more or less has the boys held hostage in town for a week...

Haruka of Hoenn February 14th, 2012 2:46 PM

Ah yes, nothing like the Gym leader from hell... But like her or not, Lona is what makes Solaceon interesting. If you don't believe me, wait till we get to the battle chapters.

Quote:

Y'know, maybe if Bertha had a regular GYM and, I dunno, dedicated OVERNIGHT ACCOMODATIONS, she wouldn't have to rush trainers along. being a bit hard on her, perhaps?
Lona has her own reasons for her mentality... you'll learn more in the upcoming chapters. This isn't the last Bertha-Lona dialogue you'll get to see, and it's one of the more restrained ones.

Quote:

Though one thing keeps concerning me. If the league has such a budget shortfall, why don't they cut back on the hotels. Sure, trainers need a place to stay, but the league's providing Sheraton levels of accomodations when all trainers need are basic, Red Roof Inn type lodging. Even Lisa would normally stay at more modest Sleep Inn and Quality Inn type places.
I won't answer that question right now because it'll reveal a big thing I'm planning... but I'll give you one hint: Exactly.

Stay tuned for more... and find out how everyone manages to survive, if at all. :P Thanks for the review, LeSabre!

Haruka of Hoenn March 30th, 2012 3:50 PM

I'm back... with a vengeance. >:)

And a chapter.

I ran into some difficulties while writing this one. I was originally going to have it split into two parts again, but I decided to put the ending scene in a separate chapter all by itself, even if it meant extending the flow of events more than I originally intended to. This makes two good things happen: The first is that this chapter will be more of a manageable mouthful, not a million miles long, and the second is that the wait for Chapter 24 will be much, much sorter than this one was. So... deal?

Read on!

2.3

After their brief meeting with Leroy, the boys took their time in getting back to the Gym. Michael figured that Bertha’s negotiations would take at least another five minutes to finish, and was ready to offer to Henry that they go for a walk instead.

But when he pushed open the door to the lobby, he was surprised to find that Bertha had beat them to it—she was seated at a bench among the rest of the trainers, her blonde head towering considerably higher over the others. She was leaning back against the window, chatting casually with the young trainers beside her, many of whom had their pokémon in their laps and were allowing her to stroke them. She looked like she had been waiting there for several minutes. When Michael and Henry approached her, Bertha turned to them and smiled. “Hello boys. Ready to go?”

Michael perked an eyebrow in disbelief. “That fast?”

“You got Lona’s signature already?” Henry said, looking over at her briefcase. It was tucked away beneath the bench, right behind her feet, as if she had tossed it there on a whim and forgot about it.

Bertha’s expression clouded somewhat in response to the question. “No, but I’m working on it,” she said. “Right now, I want to get you two back to the hotel. You might as well kick back for the rest of the day, because you’ll be hard at work tomorrow.” She stood, slipping her purse onto her shoulder and retrieved the briefcase from its hiding place. “Come on.”

After saying goodbye to the trainers, who waved in unison to her, Bertha led the boys out of the building. When they got back to the hotel, she handed them their room key and went off towards the elevator, leaving them to their own devices for the rest of the day. Usually, Michael would have delighted at such a prospect, but all he was in the mood for right now was a quiet afternoon, and maybe a snack or two.

Upon entering their room, the boys found that their stuff had already been brought in for them. The new suitcase that Bertha had loaned them was standing beside the beds, the Stunky’s cage beside it, glinting in the light. The pokémon was munching on some food that the hotel workers had given it, disturbing the silence now and then with its light rustling.

Michael stepped into the room and lowered his backpack beside the writing table. Immediately, his eyes caught a pair of small white boxes that sat on the surface of the desk, tied with cheap party ribbon. They bore no inscription, but he had no doubt that it was something for them. Carefully opening one of the packages, Michael found a red plastic wristband nestled inside, nondescript except for a code of numbers and letters printed on its face.

Henry opened the second box and found the same thing. “I wonder what these are for,” said the boy. He slipped the band onto his wrist and shook his arm, letting it rattle noisily.

“Must be for the hotel or something…” Michael peered into the box again, and found a folded piece of paper that had been lying at the bottom. Unfolding it, he saw it was a typed letter.


Dear trainer,

It is my pleasure to welcome you to Solaceon City. My name is Jennifer Lane, and I am your local Gym Coordinator. If you are reading this, it is likely that you are now comfortably situated in your hotel room, and are anticipating your first scheduled training session at the Gym. Please remember that it is important to arrive on time for all appointments. Missing one will result in your name being removed from the remaining week’s roster, and will add to the time you will have to wait to register again. If you are unable to avoid missing a battle session, please be courteous to the staff and your fellow trainers by notifying the front desk as soon as possible.

You may have noticed that the hotel staff have provided you with a box. Inside, you will find a wristband with a code printed on the side. This is your personal access code to the Gym and will be associated with your Trainer ID number for the duration of your Gym challenge. You must wear your wristband at all times when using the facility, as this is how you will be matched with your battle partners. Selection is entirely random, and is coordinated by the Gym staff. Please don’t lose your wristband. If you do, then you might be dropped from the roster and will have to wait till the next week to get a new one. If you happen to find a lost wristband, please return it to the Gym immediately.

As a final note, please be aware that even though you will be busy with battling in the coming days, this by no means confines you to the Gym or your hotel room! I encourage you to roam about the town and discover for yourself our rich culture and history. The League offers free tours of the Solaceon Ruins, Route 209, and Route 210 as an exclusive service to trainers. All you have to do is go to the hotel’s front desk and ask for a schedule, then register for the time slot that is most convenient for you. The Solaceon district has an abundance of plant and pokémon life that is unique to our location, and if you take the time to learn about our past and present, then I guarantee you will not be disappointed. Please be advised that for most functions of the tour system, you will need only your Trainer Card for identification. Wristbands are not necessary, as they are for Gym-related activities only.

If you have any further questions, please see the hotel front desk. The staff are always happy to help and give advice for whatever you may need.

I wish you the best of luck in the battles to come!

Jennifer Lane.



When he finished reading it, Michael lowered the paper with a sigh. “The League just loves writing letters, doesn’t it…”

Henry was still reading his copy, his finger tracing the lines. “Hey, they have free tours here! We should totally go!” He looked up at Michael, who replied with a shrug.

“That’s if we have time. Right now, we have to worry about the Gym. Considering that neither of us have an abundance of Flying and Psychic types, we need to do some serious catching if we want to get anywhere.”

“But I have Clefable,” Henry said.

“Gravity won’t help you win every single battle. You’re gonna need more than one move, and more than one good counter. Starly’s good, but he won’t last forever either.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense… but what about you?”

“It’s the same for me.” Michael replied. “I need a Flying type… and then I can just get some of my pokémon to learn Psychic moves.” On a whim, he slipped off his wristband and began to twirl it in the air with his finger. “Come to think of it, how do you teach pokémon moves?”

Henry began to giggle.

“I’m serious,” Michael said. “I know they learn moves by growing and stuff, but how do you get them to learn a move they wouldn’t be able to learn on their own?” He caught the wristband in his palm and placed it back into the box.

“I don’t know,” said Henry, still laughing. “Give them a book?”

“Pokémon can’t read.”

“Some of them can!” said Henry, lifting a finger. “I knew a boy in my school whose Abra could read his textbooks.”

Michael snickered. “Fine, but that can’t work for every single pokémon. There’s gotta be some way that we can… implant the knowledge into their brains or something. Remember Jerry and Mr. Mime? He said that they studied the technique for days, which means that Mr. Mime didn’t learn it on his own.”

To this, Henry shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, I never had to teach my pokémon anything… they just learned all their moves by themselves. I’ve heard of trainers back in Oreburgh who taught their pokémon moves. They said they had to go to some special place to get it done, but I never found out what it was. I guess there must be some people who specialize in that sort of thing.”

Michael exhaled. “Well, it can’t hurt to ask around. Honestly, I’d rather study a super-complicated technique that’ll give me better results in battle than wait a million years for my pokémon to learn something powerful on their own. I’m pretty sure you can’t Tackle your way to victory in the Elite Four.”

Henry began to giggle. “Yeah, that’s for sure.”

Michael nodded. He sat down into the chair by the table and began to swivel back and forth, staring absently at the opposite wall. Henry went over to the suitcase and began to unpack, setting his own things by his bed, and Michael’s on the other. They spent the rest of that day in the hotel room, reading magazines and flipping through television channels, watching the hours creep by on the wall clock. It was probably the laziest day they would ever spend in Solaceon, but Michael didn’t mind. By the sound of Jennifer Lane’s letter, he knew that in the coming weeks, he'd be busy enough.


//////


The next morning, Michael was shaken awake by a droopy-eyed Henry. After a moment of deliberation, he kicked off the covers and stumbled out of bed, blinking his eyes in the darkness. His body resisted at being force-started at such an early hour, and for the next five minutes, Michael blindly dragged himself around the room, getting dressed and packing his things, all the while yawning and rubbing his eyes to keep them from closing. The clock on the wall said 6:20.

He trudged into the lobby with Henry, and as he did, he saw several other kids emerge from various points across the corridor to join them, their backpacks bulging with a day’s worth of training equipment. The party of trainers collected in front of the glass door, and as one, pushed them out into the cool morning air. Michael let out a soft groan as he looked up at the sky—it was still deep and dark, like the underside of a soft, pillowy blanket that was still shielding the sleeping world. The trainers around him remained respectfully silent, and some murmured in agreement.

The Gym was one of the few buildings on the block with its lights on. The same three clerks were there at the front desk, and when the group of trainers entered, they formed a line, one by one approaching with their wristbands upheld. Feeling a brief shock, Michael lifted his hands to his pockets, then let out a relieved sigh when he felt the slight bulge of the armband in his left. He remembered placing it there the previous evening, just in case. Slipping the band onto his wrist, Michael approached the front desk when his turn came and held it out to the clerk.

The lady squinted at the number, and traced her finger down an attendance sheet. “Okay. Welcome, Mr. Rowan.” She checked off the box next to his name with a pencil. “Your room is 56. Wait there for your battle par’tner.”

She pointed him to the left door, and Michael entered the hallway, finding Room 56. He pushed open the door, and found a partially-darkened room, with just two lights glowing in the center. At first, Michael thought he was alone, but when the door closed, the lights suddenly flickered on, revealing the room in full, stunning brightness.

Michael blinked several times to adjust his focus. At the same time, a figure emerged from the back corner. He opened his eyes the whole way, and saw Lona Walker standing before him, a clipboard in her hands.

“Welcome,” she said. “We’ll begin shortly. In the meantime, you may get settled.”

Michael’s heart sank. Lona marked down his name with a pencil, and began moving across the room, opening the window blinds to the still-dark morning sky, and retrieving a water bottle from a chair in the corner. She was surprisingly well-kempt, even at such an early hour. Her brown hair was neatly combed, shining softy in what would have been a pretty way if it hadn’t belonged to her head, and her clothing was completely wrinkle-free, obviously not having been thrown on at the last minute. She had even remembered to put on her jacket. In his sleep-deprived state, Michael immediately associated it with a winter hide, which she would wear in hibernation and stow away during the summer. And because she lived in the Gym and lacked closet space, she kept it tied in a knot around her waist, using it as a cushion when she sat, and a blanket when she slept…

Michael gave himself a brief jolt, blinking his eyes to chase away the daydream. Luckily for him, Lona did not seem to have noticed his spacing-out. She came to a stop at the center of the room, facing him.

“The trainer with whom you are partnered today already knows the procedure, so I will only have to explain it to you,” she said. “You will go through a single battle with two rounds, each round involving two of your pokémon. The five-second-faint rule applies. Your goal is to simply battle the way you are used to battling, and keep in mind any corrections you may receive. I assume that you already know the more detailed rules, such as the official distance boundaries, the contact rules, and the fouls, and do not need me to elaborate further on them.”

Michael nodded out of habit. In reality, her words had whizzed right past him, like a ticker tape message played at high speed.

“Good,” Lona said. “You may step onto the field now and prepare yourself. Your battle partner should arrive momentarily.”

Michael was about to ask where said field was located, since the whole floor was just an unmarked sheet of cushions, when Lona turned away, stepping over to the side to examine something on the opposite wall. Michael decided to use his best judgment, and planted himself in the spot she had vacated, directly in front of the window.

His battle partner arrived a minute later. He was a thin, freckled boy, dressed in a faded red shirt and shorts. He entered without a sound, gazed at Lona in acknowledgment, then dropped his duffel bag into the corner beside Michael’s. The boy’s teeth were slightly crooked, the front two just barely poking out from his mouth whenever he turned his head too far up, or down. He looked at Michael once as he stepped onto the battle space, and for the remainder of their session, kept his gaze fixed somewhere between the tips of his shoes and the tumble mats on the floor.

With both trainers in position, Lona seemed to spring to life. She swiftly made her final memos, placed the clipboard onto the windowpane, then retreated a distance of several feet away from them. “Send out your first pokémon,” she called.

Michael and the boy lifted their pokéballs simultaneously and released their battlers—Michael his Turtwig, and the other trainer a Luxio. When the Electric pokémon emerged, landing softly on all fours, it swept the room with its bulbous eyes like a trained field scout. Michael had seen Luxios in battle before; they were quite versatile, but he knew some of their basic moves, so he figured he wouldn’t be too bad off.

Without waiting for any signal from Lona, the Luxio’s trainer called out his first command: “Tackle.”

A beat later, Michael reacted. “Turtwig, use Razor Leaf.”

And just like that, the battle began. The Luxio darted forward, its slender tail whipping behind it, its spiky fur bouncing with every stride. Turtwig sent several leaves whizzing at his foe, which whipped Luxio’s face and legs, causing the pokémon to flinch back, its yellow eyes puckering. As the leaves lodged themselves in the mass of its hide, Luxio began to shake itself, as if it had been doused in cold water. When it had steadied itself, the Luxio looked back up at Turtwig, its teeth bared in a pained snarl. It began to prowl in a half-circle, searching for the right angle to attack from.

Michael clenched his fist. “Again!” he ordered.

Turtwig bent his head back to use Razor Leaf, when suddenly, in the corner of his eye, Michael saw an arm lift itself into the air. “Stop!” Lona called.

In that instant, the battle paused. The Luxio suddenly quit its advances, sitting back on its haunches like a tamed house pet, its snarl fading to a low purr. Turtwig lowered his head without sending the leaves, jaws clicking in confusion.

Michael whirled around to face the Gym leader. “What was that for?” he blurted.

“Never begin a battle with a special attack,” Lona said. “Especially when you are unfamiliar with your opponent. It wastes an excessive amount of energy that your pokémon could have used to make a purposeful advancement.”

“Like what?” Michael said. But Lona did not reply. She went back to her place at the sidelines and crossed her arms. “Start over. Pokémon inside pokéballs.”

At first, Michael wondered if she was being serious. His opponent, who did not seem at all surprised at Lona’s interruption, silently called the Luxio back into its pokéball. Michael followed suit a few seconds later, letting Turtwig vanish in a jet of white.

Once the battlefield was clear, Lona gave a curt nod. “Release.”

They brought out their pokémon simultaneously, and the battlers landed in the same positions they had started out in. The Luxio emerged with a calm face, but once it laid eyes on Turtwig again, it began to growl anew.

“Luxio, use Tackle,” said the trainer.

With no other commands under his belt besides Razor Leaf, Michael finally broke down and did the same. “Turtwig, use Tackle.” He cast a sour glance at Lona, almost humorously expecting her to follow through with another reprimand, but to his frustration, found that she had simply nodded at them in satisfaction.

His mood reaching an all-time low, Michael turned back to watch the battle. The two pokémon, running at each other in perfectly straight lines, collided and began to roll around, clawing and biting. Luxio, being the larger and more nimble of the two, gained a quick and savory advantage—it had caught Turtwig right by the rims of his shell, and was tossing him around with its claws like a ball of yarn. Michael watched as Turtwig retreated into his shell at last, much like the trainer-girl’s Prinplup had done the day before, and felt a surge of anger.

“That’s it, get out!” he shouted at Turtwig, stepping forward. “Get out of that damn shell and use Razor Leaf!”

It was a while before Turtwig responded. Finally, the large, blue-green head popped out from its hidey-hole, followed by the four stubby legs. Turtwig began to run, jumping aside to avoid Luxio’s sweeping paws, blindly shooting leaf after leaf at his opponent. Some of them missed, but to Michael’s delight most of them made contact, causing Luxio to draw back. But the pokémon never backed down. As Turtwig’s exhaustion began to show, and the rounds of Razor Leaf became more sparse, the other trainer began to counter with Tail Whips, which often hit Turtwig right at the feet, causing the pokémon to stumble.

Michael tried his best to improvise, though it became considerably hard to think with Lona’s firm, powerful voice shattering his concentration every few seconds. The Gym leader was no idle spectator, as he soon found out; she jumped from one end of the room to the other, her arms spread out around her like a wrestler’s, her shouts piercing the battle noise and obliterating every attempt at planning a move in advance.

“Quickly! Think quickly!” Lona shouted, as Luxio’s tail whipped out from behind it to smack Turtwig in the face. The Grass pokémon toppled from the force of the blow, landing flat on his belly with his limbs splayed out on the floor. It took Michael a few seconds to realize that Lona had been talking to him. But by then it was too late.

Without warning, sharp, claw-like fingers gripped his shoulders and spun him around. “Stop staring at the floor!” Lona shouted, tugging him so close that he could feel the heat of rage in her eyes. “Did you not hear what I just said to you? You could have crushed that Luxio three minutes ago!”

Feeling a kindling anger, Michael removed her hands from his shoulders and gritted his teeth. “It would have been two, if you hadn’t stopped me.”

He was half-expecting to receive a smack for that, but instead Lona simply pushed him away, turning him back to face the action. Michael wanted badly to grab her thin little wrist and pull it hard, but he restrained himself. Instead, he focused his attention on Turtwig, who was still lying in the same spot, making a feeble attempt at getting up.

There was a brief silence, during which both Michael and the trainer watched Turtwig fumble for balance, trying to lift his belly off the floor. Then, Lona snapped her fingers. “Five seconds. Turtwig is fainted.”

“But he’s still moving! Look!” Michael pointed. But Lona shook her head.

Grumbling, he returned Turtwig for the second time, and went to his backpack to swap the pokéball with Caterpie’s. Upon releasing the green worm, he immediately gave his command: “Use Bug Bite.”

His opponent sniffed loudly. “Luxio, use Scratch.”

As Caterpie began her march forward, Luxio slowly approached with a paw upheld, and like so many other pokémon before, brought it firmly down. Immediately, Caterpie’s jaws latched into its skin, and the Luxio howled with pain. The pokémon’s hair stood on end, and began to ripple as if from a breeze, white electricity crackling between the tufts.

A faint glimmer lit up the eyes of the trainer. “Luxio, use Spark!”

Luxio seemed all-too willing to comply, and began to amass the electric field around it, preparing to fry Caterpie like a kebab. In panic, the Bug pokémon began to bite faster, and Michael tensed, wanting to intervene, but not knowing how to go about it. With every second he hesitated, however, the electric cloud grew brighter and larger around Luxio, and finally Michael was pressured to say the first thing that came to mind:

“Caterpie, use String Shot!”

For the first few seconds, nothing changed. But then, he heard a series of loud cracking noises, like someone crumpling a bag of chips, followed by a faint squeal. Michael grimaced. The Luxio began to shake itself again, the sparks flying to and fro around it and dissipating in the air. Something small and green fell out of Luxio’s thick hide and landed on the mat. Caterpie had been fried, all right; her exoskeleton had darkened, and the tiny strand of silk she had managed to churn out was wrapped around her. It was almost sickening to look at, and this time, Michael did not doubt that his pokémon was fainted.

As he rushed to open the pokéball and get the Caterpie-kebab out of sight, he heard a faint tsk-tsk sound coming from his right. He turned, and when he locked eyes with Lona again, the Gym leader put her hands on her hips.

“Why didn’t you start with String Shot? Your Caterpie could have immobilized Luxio and prevented him from generating the static!”

Michael snapped the pokéball shut and turned around the rest of the way to face her. “But you said to never start with a special attack! Whatever happened to getting to know your opponent?” A slight mocking edge crept into the end of his sentence, without his intention. But it was enough for Lona to notice. Her eyes first widened in affront, then narrowed as she frowned.

“I would have hoped that you’d have gotten to know Luxio enough after he took down your Turtwig!” Lona said. “But since apparently you haven’t, then next time you might want to listen to advice that you are given instead of whining and insisting on doing things your way!”

“And maybe next time, you could try being more clear too!” he retorted.

“Enough!” Lona snapped. She stomped over to the windowpane and grabbed the clipboard, marking down the results of the battle. “Rick has one point. Michael has zero. Trainers will now prepare for the second round with new pokémon.”

Looking across the room at his opponent, Michael saw the trainer lift his gaze briefly at him. They went to their backpacks and swapped pokéballs, while Lona settled back into her half-watching-half-hopping position. The anger, like all of her other observable emotions, had entirely dissolved behind the mask of her face within seconds after her outburst. But it wasn’t quite gone, as Michael saw, and often emerged in a brief, sharp turn or inflection of voice.

As Michael and his opponent stepped back onto the field, Lona straightened, crossing her arms. “Release.”

Twisting open the capsule, Michael sent out his Machop. Across from him, the Rick kid sent out a Shieldon. Upon seeing the pokémon emerge—a tiny, brown creature with a protruding, plate-like head—Michael felt a flutter of hope. Shieldons were Rock types, and the metallic sheen of the pokémon’s face suggested Steel.

Feeling a comeback in his spirits, he ordered Machop to use Focus Punch. His opponent retaliated with a Headbutt, but from the start, it was clear who would become the winner. Shieldon was a slow, clunky creature who fumbled as he ran, and at the sight of the lunging Machop, whose fist was upheld to sweep him off the floor, he quickly turned tail and scurried away. Machop ended up catching up with him, and knocked him around a couple times before Shieldon managed to get away again.

Apart from a Headbutt and a few Tackles, the Rick kid seemed at a loss for what to do with his team’s laggard. The boy’s demeanor had taken a sharp turn from the minute he had released his second pokémon—his face had shifted from placid to sullen, then to visibly irritated. But Michael wasn’t about to pity him. He had a battle to win.

After letting Machop indulge himself with his new punching bag, Michael proceeded to deal the final blow to the exhausted Shieldon. He cast a brief glance at his opponent, who seemed frozen in place, and smiled. “Machop, use Cross Chop!”

Machop, who after two minutes of nonstop kicking and throwing seemed more energetic than ever, sprang forward with his arms crossed like the letter ‘X’. He slashed at Shieldon’s side, bringing both hands down with deadly accuracy, and the tiny pokémon was thrown back like a ball towards its trainer, hitting the mat with a soft thump. His job done, Machop straightened, turning back to Michael with a pleased expression.

Lona, who had been unusually quiet for the duration of Machop’s fighting spree, now came out of her slumber. Shaking her head in irritation, she approached Rick in three long strides, and pointed sharply to the motionless Shieldon lying on the mat. “How many times do I have to tell you, Rick? Look at what your opponent is doing! Look at him! He has his every command written upon his face before he speaks it! You should’ve guessed what he was thinking the minute he took his eyes away from you and looked at Shieldon! It was your negligence yet again that made your pokémon fall. I’m surprised that it still has faith in you as a trainer. If I were your pokémon, I sure wouldn’t.”

Michael snorted. If you were my pokémon, you’d get exactly what you deserve.

It seemed that the boy was thinking along the same lines. As he stared into Lona’s eyes, Michael saw a faint glow that hadn’t been there before. But as usual, Lona wasn’t interested. She stepped away from the boy, jostling him back into place by the shoulder, and came to the middle of the battlefield. “Machop has won the round. The respective trainer will send out their next pokémon.”

Rick went over to his duffel bag and took out his final pokéball. Coming back to the battle space, he released a Bonsly, a rough, egg-shaped pokémon with a stalk growing off the top of its head, and two tiny legs. Its eyes were perpetually narrowed, and often welled with silvery tears that dripped down the sides of its flat face. It was supposedly a detoxification process, one that Michael’s biology teacher had gone to great lengths to explain, but that did not stop him and his friends from dubbing it the Crybaby Pokémon.

But despite this Bonsly’s timid appearance, it turned out to be surprisingly resilient. It was able to dodge several of Machop’s aimed punches, and retaliate with sharp kicks and smacks, for which it used the bud-like growths that sprouted from the tip of its head. Normally, Michael would have found the lack of arms to be a setback, but the Bonsly compensated well, as if it was used to battling in such a physical way.

His interest turned into frustration, however, as Machop began to show signs of tiring. The pokémon’s reflexes began to slow, his punches became sluggish and often whizzed right past their target, causing Machop to briefly lose balance. Bonsly’s head-branch caught Macholp by the arm, spinning him around and knocking him to the floor.

Michael did not like to watch his pokémon fumble and flop, so he became pressed to find a move that would serve as a quick, powerful finish. But Machop’s field never seemed to clear—the Bonsly followed him around as if pulled by a magnetic field, poking and bumping in a harmless, but annoying way. Out of sheer desperation, Michael began to shout commands in rapid sequence, hoping to build Machop’s momentum through sheer loudness of voice.

“Go! Low Kick, Focus Punch, Cross Chop! Do something!” Michael shouted. To his satisfaction, some of the commands reached Machop’s ears, and the pokémon responded with a flailing attempt at self-defense. But still others missed, or were cut short by a jostle from Bonsly or a sharp smack across the cheek. After what seemed like an eternity, the Bonsly’s defenses finally seemed to give. After leaning too far in with its head-branch lowered like a spear, the Bonsly faltered for a moment, trying to regain balance. Smiling, Michael leaned forward to call Machop to attention, but before his own voice issued from his mouth he heard another rise above him.

“Stop!”

Lona’s hand flew into the air.

“Huh?” Michael turned his head reflexively. At the same time, Machop looked up at the sound of his master’s voice, and while his head was turned, the Bonsly rammed its body into him, toppling them both, spraying glistening tears all over the mats. The sound of the crash made Michael whip his head around again, but by the time his eyes found Machop, the Bonsly had rolled over and risen to its feet. Machop lay still on the mat, collapsed from exhaustion.

When Michael realized what had happened, he felt fury well up inside of him. As if by instinct, his eyes found Lona again.

The Gym leader approached him, equally terse, her hands on her hips. “A foolish move,” she said, casting a glance towards the fallen Machop. “Whenever two pokémon are in rally combat, the answer isn’t to fling worthless commands from the top of your head! You have to watch, wait! Observe the changes the battlers exhibit!”

“It was your fault he fainted!” Michael retaliated. “I had it all in the bag and then you distracted me!”

A smile turned the corners of Lona’s lips. “That doesn’t bring your Machop back to its feet, now does it? Send out your next pokémon.”

With a groan, Michael returned Machop and went for his backpack again. His next pokémon was his last—Goldeen. He had emptied the pokéball’s store of water upon leaving Hearthome, which he came to regret as he sent out the fish onto dry land.

Goldeen flopped for a moment, confused at the sudden change in environment. Lowering the pokéball, Michael felt a brief pang of pity for the both of them. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the Bonsly. “Goldeen, use Supersonic.”

Goldeen complied, and narrowed her eyes as she sent a silent, invisible pulse through the air. When it hit, the muscles in Bonsly’s face suddenly relaxed. Its tongue lolled out from the corner of its mouth and its eyes drooped, spilling a fresh stream of tears down its cheeks. Bonsly began to teeter, making unintelligible noises as it dipped left and right. Michael watched, his lips pursed. Maybe it’ll keep hurting itself and faint. The idea was a comforting one, and he would have to be pretty damn lucky for it to work. But he had been lucky before. So why not now?

His hopes continued to churn through his thoughts as he watched the Bonsly dance, on the verge of toppling. The Bonsly’s trainer watched his pokémon in detachment, a slightly annoyed expression crossing his face. After a few seconds, he came out of his silence: “Bonsly, I’m your friend,” he said calmly. “Listen to me. Use Faint Attack.”

The Bonsly began to show signs of intelligent thought. It was currently balanced on one foot, its stem-head tilting dangerously to the side, but at that moment it began to blink, and withdrew its tongue into its mouth. Slowly, Bonsly drew itself upright again.

“Good,” Rick said. “Now use Faint Attack.” He stressed the word slowly and carefully. “Faint Attack.” The Bonsly shuffled forward, its expression still somewhat vacant, approaching Goldeen.

“Get out of the way!” Michael said. “Do it!”

Goldeen flopped on her side, trying to move herself over. She inched along, though she was no more coordinated than Bonsly was, and for a minute the battlefield resembled a drunken film in slow-motion. Bonsly bobbed slightly as it came to a stop beside Goldeen, and in an exaggerated motion, looked down at the pokémon. In response, Goldeen tried to roll herself to the side, but the Bonsly administered a single kick, which did it for her. After a few seconds, Bonsly’s confusion seemed to recede a little, and it approached to kick again. Michael nearly slapped his forehead in dismay, but stopped himself when he caught glimpse of Lona again, lurking in the sidelines.

“Finish it off!” she cried; whether it was to him or to Rick Michael didn’t know. “You have your opponent right where you want it! Go!”

Simultaneously, both boys turned to their pokémon.

“Goldeen, use Horn Attack!” Michael said.

“Bonsly, use Slam!”

Bonsly reacted first, planting both feet on the ground and steadying itself. Goldeen, flustered from the blows, was still trying to get herself back together. She was lying just a few feet away from Michael, who could see all too well what was going to happen. Goldeen managed to advance a few feet, but by then Bonsly caught up with her. With a tiny grunt, Bonsly jumped, and let itself fall right onto Goldeen, smashing her against the ground. Michael saw a protruding end of her fin tense briefly, then relax. When Bonsly rolled over, Goldeen lay where she was.

Five seconds passed, and Lona took the clipboard from the window. “Goldeen is fainted. Rick has won the round. That leaves Rick with two points for today, and Michael with zero.”

Michael grumbled. He sent back Goldeen without another word, avoiding the eyes of the other trainer. Rick called his pokémon back as well.

“Now onto your reviews,” Lona continued. “Both of you need serious, urgent work in improving your battle skills. Rick, you must learn once and for all to adapt your commands to the battle situation, and observe your opponent’s strategy instead of making blind, careless decisions. And Mr. Michael Rowan must learn to play the hand he is dealt.” In a single, precise motion, Lona slid the pencil into a gap beneath the clip, and tucked the clipboard under her arm. “That is all,” she said to them. “You may both pack up your things and leave.”

She sauntered off towards the door and slipped out of the room, leaving the both of them alone.

Michael was still fuming. Letting his rage buzz in the silence, he pulled off the gloves he was wearing and shoved them into his backpack, along with Goldeen’s pokéball. He wasn’t angered so much at the loss as he was at Lona. Every time he had been on to something, every time he had been ready to make a comeback, she had stepped in and cut him off. It was only his first day of battling, but already, he felt like it had been a week.

Michael was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not notice the other trainer kneel down beside him to pack his things. Michael was determined to let the silence continue, keeping it propped between them like a wall, but then the trainer turned to him and gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Good game.”

Michael looked at him for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Yeah. You too. Rick, right?”

The trainer nodded. Despite his victory, his face retained its perpetually sullen look, and his eyes kept drifting down to the floor. After a moment of digging around in his duffel bag, he looked back up at Michael again. “You shouldn’t ignore her like that. It pisses her off.” His accent seemed to come and go with certain syllables and inflections.

At the mention of Lona, Michael scowled. “Even when she’s dead wrong?”

Rick nodded. “Yeah. You gotta at least act like y’re listening. Otherwise, she can keep you here longer’nd make you battle more.”

“As if I need any more of her in my life..." Michael said. "It’s only been a day and I’m sick of it.”

At this, Rick’s eyes widened in disbelief. “It’s only your first day here?”

“Yeah.”

“And you got Lona for your first referee… that’s some luck right there. But it’ll get better—you’re more likely to get h’r other staff, and th’re way more lenient. They give advice that actually helps, too.”

Michael nodded slowly. “So you’ve been in the Gym a while?”

A sardonic smile crossed Rick’s face. “Four weeks and counting.”

Michael felt himself gape. “Holy shit. Are you serious?”

“Yup. All my friends are in Pastor’ya now… maybe even Sunyshore… I’m the only one who got left behind. I made it to the staff battles in my second week—most people do—but I lost b’fore I got to Lona. I had to start all ov’r.”

“And… you’re still doing partner battles? I don’t get it. They should’ve just let you start over from the staff level.”

Rick scoffed. “Yeah, try tellin’ that to her administration. They don’t care. No one does. Especially not her.”

“You make it seem like she hates you or something,” Michael said.

“Lona hates everyone. But the thing is, she hates some more than others. I’ve been doing partner battles for nearly three weeks, and she’s rejected me for staff battles twice. And in the meantime, kids come in here, lose a couple times in the partner rounds, and move straight up to the staff rounds and get the badge. And I’m still here.” Rick turned out his palms in a gesture of hopelessness, and slapped them back against his sides. “Lona keeps saying I have to improve my skills, but she never pays attention to my progress. And until I beat her Gym, I won’t be able to move on to the next one. Which, at the rate I’m going, means that I prob’ly won’t be able to finish the whole circuit by the time the season ends, and won’t be able to regist’r for the Elite Four tourney until the next one. In 1965.” He let out a breath. “Bitch.”

Michael nodded slowly. “I dig it. I really do.”

“Psh. Don’t kid yourself. You’re jus’ sayin’ that now. In a few days, you’ll move on just like the others. You’ll get the badge and leave and I’ll still be here, stuck in the hellhole of a town. Don’t pretend like you care. You can’t.”

At this, Michael felt a flare of irritation. “Look, man, I hate it here as much as you do. But you know what? I’m still gonna beat her. I have a foolproof strategy that no one here can guess about.” He stopped, then for affirmation, added, “And it’s going to work.”

Rick nodded, his expression still dark. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” He rose, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. Michael grabbed his backpack, and they set off together down the hallway.

The lobby was significantly emptier than it had been in midday, with just a few newcomers trickling in and presenting their wristbands. Michael motioned himself to a free bench by the door, and before leaving, Rick stopped beside him.

“Word to the wise,” he said. “The minute you get the chance, leave. If you lose, just cut it right then and there and come back next year. It’s not worth it to stay in this town.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Michael said. “It’s just a Gym. Just beat it and move on. It can’t be that bad.”

Rick shrugged. “If you think so, cat, then you’re dead wrong. I’ve lived here since I was born and I know everything. And I’ll tell you right now: Lona Walker is the biggest, most pretentious bitch you will ever meet. She might seem like she knows 'er stuff, but it’s all a lie. I know who she really is.”

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Elaborate?”

Rick took a breath, as if weighing his words. “She’s a twenty-year-old chick with no life. That pr'tty much sums it up. My family actually knew hers a while ago. They had a farm ‘round here somewhere, but I dunno if she still lives there ’r not. At any rate, it doesn’t look like it. She doesn’t even act like she’s from here anymore. She talks like a city girl.”

“You mean the accent?” Michael said.

“Yup. She must’ve gotten rid of it when she was traveling. You know, studying to become a Gym leader and all. She pro’lly thinks it makes her sound professional… but I think she just sounds like a telephone operator.”

Michael snickered. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Rick smiled. It was a rare change that came over his face, temporarily lifting it from its gloom. “You’re pretty cool, you know. You’re the first person who actually digs what I’m trying to say. Everyone else either doesn’t give a shit or doesn’t believe me.” Rick looked back as the group of trainers that had gathered around the desk slowly parted ways, its constituents splitting off in separate directions. “It’s really clev’r what Lona’s doing to us,” he said. “Separating everyone and making it seem like it’s every kid for himself. I think if someone really wanted to, they could write to the League Office or whatev'r and get her removed, but I guess everyone’s too scared to bother with it.” When Rick turned back to Michael, the smile was completely gone, leaving behind a drooping countenance. “Well, I gotta go,” he said, turning for the door. “What’s your name anyway?”

“Michael.”

“Cool. See you around.” Rick bobbed a nod at him, and pushed through the exit.

For the next few minutes, Michael sat alone, tapping his feet, watching trainers come and go around him. At last, the door to the right hallway opened, and Henry appeared with his tote bag clutched in both arms. He took a look around the lobby, and when his eyes found Michael, he approached. “Hey!” he said brightly. “When did you get here?”

“A couple minutes ago,” Michael replied. “How’d the battle go?”

“It was great!” Henry said. “I had a guy named Eric for my referee. He was really cool. He showed me how to throw a pokéball just like the pros.” In demonstration, Henry held up his left arm and curled it behind his head, gripping an imaginary pokéball. Brow furrowed in concentration, he swung it down with a swift flick of the wrist, aiming for the opposite wall. When he finished, the boy straightened, smiling proudly. “The way you spin it, it’s supposed to roll back towards you. My partner and I almost got it by the end of the match.”

“Great,” Michael said.

“So who was your referee?” Henry continued.

Michael gave a mumble in response. “Lona."

“Wow, really?" The boy's eyes widened. "What was she like?”

Michael thought for a moment, tapping his chin. “Like a Bibarel in its natural environment.”

Henry giggled. “What does that mean?”

“No clue,” Michael said. “Now let’s go. I don’t want to spend any more time in here than I have to.”

“Right,” said Henry.

Together, they signed out at the front desk, and without a backward glance, hurried out of the Gym. The two boys walked down the path side by side, though by their individual postures, they did not appear to be together. Henry did not seem at all dismayed by the day’s outcome; to the contrary, he seemed quite happy. The boy kept an upbeat pace, looking around at the surrounding town, indifferent with regards to the place he was going and the place he had left. Henry was utterly immune from the world, like he always seemed to be. But to Michael, there was no mistaking the sudden swell of relief he felt upon leaving the Gym, whose pale bricks and cream-colored walls he was already starting to associate with detention. It was as if Lona Walker’s shadow, which had been clutching him in a death grip during his entire visit, had suddenly released him and retreated back into its lair, awaiting his return. Michael never remembered having such a feeling about anything before, but his present awareness of it made him think, wondering if there was some truth after all in what the Rick kid had told him.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ April 1st, 2012 2:08 PM

I'll have to keep this short since I'm strapped for time, but...

As I thought, Lona is easily my least favorite gym leader out of all of them... including the games, the anime, anyone... If I was a trainer in that place and time, I would most definitely be reporting her. Things must really suck for Rick, being basically imprisoned there for like, forever. Bad luck in getting the head honcho for the judge, since Henry obviously didn't feel it was a living hell, though.

Wonder how Lisa would react to the prospect of going through the Lona routine if she trained back in that day...

I don't care for Lona, but I do have an appreciation for what you're doing with her... making a person in a seemingly respectable position turn out not to be all that respectable. How much she actually knows about battling is a question mark, but there's little denying she thinks she knows everything :P

Good chapter, and it really brought to light the way Lona operates. Looking forward to the next one :)

Haruka of Hoenn April 2nd, 2012 4:10 PM

Everybody seems to dislike Lona so far... hehe. I'm glad you're enjoying her role, but there's a whole lot more to come. She's a lot of fun to write about, since she manages to butt heads with pretty much every character in our cast.

And as for Lisa... now that you bring it up, I do wonder how that would have turned out. (I don't think Lona would have approved of the girly dresses, though. :P)

I'm working on the next chapter as we speak, so it should be up on schedule this time. Thanks for the review!

Haruka of Hoenn April 21st, 2012 7:41 AM

After a good few weeks in the making... and editing... here's Chapter 24!

2.4

By the time Michael and Henry left the Gym, the sun had emerged from the clouds and was making its way to the center point in the sky. The town was bathed in light, and the streets that had been nearly empty before were now abuzz with morning activity. Michael was startled by the change; it seemed that he had been so caught up in the battle that he hadn’t even noticed the time go by.

Neither of them had forgotten about their arrangement with Leroy. Immediately upon leaving the building, Michael turned onto the path they had followed the previous day, rounding the corner of the Gym to find the tree they had agreed to meet by. But no one was there. Turning back towards the sidewalk, Michael saw lots of trainers passing by the building, but none of them had curly red hair, or wore the staff uniform.

Refusing to believe Leroy hadn’t showed, Michael continued down the side of the building, till he reached the back corner, well out of view from the front. It was a dead end, however, a shady thicket of trees and tall bushes. Henry ran to catch up with him, scanning the area.

“Do you see anyone?” the boy asked.

Michael shook his head. He was about to turn back, when a faint plip sound issued from somewhere nearby. Michael stopped for a moment, thinking he had imagined it. The sound came again, this time louder. He looked up at Henry.

“Did you hear that?”

Henry nodded slowly. They turned back towards the bushes, and Michael stepped closer to them, cupping a hand around his ear. Henry did he same. Plip-plip. Then came a sharp metallic clang of someone dropping a metal bucket, followed by a low, angered murmur. Michael pulled apart the wall of bushes like a curtain and peered inside. What he saw surprised him—there was a sunny, untouched clearing hidden away behind the Gym, almost like a remnant of small forest that might have stood there before the structure was built. The grass was thin and soft, and there was a small pond located in the middle, its banks receding from years of erosion.

Leroy sat with his sneakers in the dirt, his back turned, a fishing pole dipped into the water. A metal bucket stood beside him, empty save for a few Magikarp. The boy had not noticed their arrival. He continued to sit still as Michael and Henry approached, his gaze fixed on the water’s surface. Then, at the sound of their advancing footsteps, Leroy’s head twitched to the side in alarm. When his eyes alighted upon the boys, Leroy smacked his forehead and let out a laugh.

“Oh, hey!” he said. “Sorry, you guys scared me for a minute there. I didn’t know exactly when you’d be out, so I was going to come by the tree after I made one more catch.” Just then, Leroy felt a tug on the edge of his line, and turned back to the water. He twisted the crank, and a wriggling Magikarp was yanked out of the water, its red scales glistening as it flopped about like a yo-yo. Leroy pulled it over into the grass and removed the hook from its mouth. Then, with a sigh, he tossed it back into the pond.

“There’s nothing good in the water here,” he said. “I’ve gotten five of these already.” Leroy gathered up the rest of the line and placed the fishing pole into the grass. Then, leaning back on his hands, he looked at Michael and Henry. “So how did the battles go?”

“I won mine,” said Henry brightly. “It was close, though. My partner almost got my Starly, but we pulled through.”

Michael gave a half-hearted nod. “I lost. But with freaking Lona as your referee, it’s hard not to.”

Leroy’s eyebrows climbed. “Whoa, you had Lona? Then it’s no wonder. She doesn’t take it easy on anyone, especially if you’re a newcomer.” He rose to his feet, brushing dirt and grass from his pants. “Well, I suppose we should get started. Just send out your pokémon so I can take a look at them, okay? No one ever comes around here, so we won’t get caught.”

Nodding, Michael dropped his backpack onto the ground, and one by one, released the members of his team. Henry did the same, and a sequence of heavy, exhausted pokémon plopped into a disorganized mess on the grass. All of Michael’s pokémon were fainted, and barely moved. Most of Henry’s were as well, save for Starly, who managed to shift around every so often, chirping weakly.

Leroy carefully stepped around the group and took a look at each of their teams in turn. “Yeah… hmm… okay.” He rubbed his chin. “Both of you are on even ground when it comes to counters. Michael, your Turtwig is obviously weak to Poison, because he’s Grass, and your Caterpie is resistant to Fighting. Henry, your Burmy is good against Fighting. I’m not sure about Clefable, though… since when did you have one?”

“Clefairy evolved,” said Henry, smiling. “And she’s gotten a lot tougher since then.”

Leroy nodded. “That’s pretty cool. I never knew Clefairies evolved. Do you know what type she is now?”

Henry shrugged. “Well, Clefairies are Normal type, so… would that mean that Clefables are too?” He looked at Leroy first, then at Michael.

“Well, I guess so,” Michael replied. “How did she do in battle? Did your opponent use any Fighting moves?”

“A little bit… She didn’t take them that well, though. She sort of stumbled a bit after a few Focus Punches.” Henry fell silent.

“Then she must have some sort of weakness to Fighting,” Michael said.

“But how? She did really well when we battled Jerry’s Gallade.”

“But that was only one pokémon,” said Leroy. “And Gallade isn’t even pure Fighting. If Clefable’s going to be bombarded with physical hits over and over again, she might faint faster. I don’t know much about your pokémon, Henry, but when you’re dealing with Lona’s Gym, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Both of you need to catch at least two good counters. That, or catch one counter and teach the rest of your pokémon Psychic or Flying moves.”

“Okay, but how would you actually do that?” Michael said. “We were talking about that yesterday. How do you get a pokémon to learn a move it wouldn’t normally learn by growing?”

Leroy’s face froze for a moment, and he laughed nervously. “Uh… it’s pretty hard, actually. I don’t know how to do it, but I’ve heard about it from people, and they say it’s pretty complicated. It’s sort of like physical therapy. You guide the pokémon’s motions, and somehow or other you get it to realize in its brain what that particular move is supposed to be. None of the trainers I’ve talked with can do it, because… well, you know. What ten- or eleven-year-old would want to study that instead of battling?”

Michael was about to let out a sigh, but then Leroy held up his finger. “But! I’ll tell you what you can do. If you want to teach one of your pokémon a move, you should go see the Move Tutor. He lives right here in town, and I’m telling you, that guy is amazing. I met him by accident when I was taking a walk one day. He teaches moves to trainers’ pokémon for a really low price. You guys should pay him a visit.”

“Where does he live?” Michael asked.

“Not too far from here, actually. Go past the marketplace and take a left turn on Lester Road, and you’ll reach a small section of houses. He doesn’t have a sign or anything, but his mailbox number is 4112. Easy to remember.”

Michael nodded. “All right. It’s worth a shot. You dig, Henry?”

Henry smiled. “Sure.”

Leroy clapped his hands together. “Great. So, that’s all you need to do, I guess. Just be sure to catch a Flying or Psychic pokémon. There are a few that live around Route 209, so you should take a look there.”

“Could you show us, though?” Henry said. “Around the route and stuff. We’re not that familiar with the town yet, so we could use some help.”

“Sure thing,” said Leroy. “Just let me get all this put away. I have a room at the Trainer Hotel, so if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll drop it off there.” Leroy lifted the bucket and swung the fishing pole over his shoulder.

The three of them left the thicket and went back to the hotel, where Leroy ran over to the elevators to reach his room. In the meantime, Michael and Henry visited the hotel’s convenience store to replenish their supply of pokéballs. After experiencing a brief mental debate while looking at the racks, Michael decided not to squander this time, and bought four new capsules. The money pocket in his backpack thinned significantly, but he knew he would have to spend it all sooner or later.

Henry bought four new pokéballs as well, plus a spare, for which he bought a purple sticker and stuck it right above the red knob on the center. “We’ll use this for Stunky,” he said, looking at Michael. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Michael shrugged. “I guess not. It beats carrying that cage around everywhere.”

Henry nodded. “Right.”

They packed away their purchases and left for the lobby, where they found Leroy in the sitting area. He was dressed for a full day outdoors; he wore a visor and shorts, and carried a messenger bag over his shoulder. When they walked in, he stood up. “Ready, guys?” he said. “I brought sunblock in case either of you need it. It’s a big route, and we’ll be out there for a while.”

“We’re set,” Michael said.

Leroy smiled. “All right, let’s go!”

He led them out the door, turning onto the footpath that ran alongside the street. The boys followed a network of small roads until they reached the central avenue, which was six lanes wide, and bisected the town in a perfectly straight path, north to south. Traffic flowed into it from smaller roads on either side, which branched into the main road like veins, and coalesced into a plethora of shops, signs, and people that moved like one big river in both directions.

Looking over the dusty cars and wooden wagons that trailed along his side, Michael could see all the way to Route 209, a miniscule spot of dark green trees and hills to the south. The boys made their way down the main road, crossing block after block, until the traffic suddenly branched off into a separate direction, and the town gradually yielded to the dominance of nature. The paved roadway faded, the buildings disappeared, and the crowds trickled away, leaving only a dirt path, which continued to wind its way through a landscape of hills and ankle-length grass. The route was thicker with plant life than the rest of the neighboring countryside had been. It consisted of mostly underbrush and small trees, though occasionally a tall one would crop up to cast a generous amount of shade over the boys’ heads.

It was nature on a level second only to Eterna. The only sign of human presence was the path that was smoothed out from the soil, and the occasional directional sign propped up by a wooden pole. Looking out from his position, Michael saw the path continue on for some time, then vanish completely in the throes of the underbrush.

“Wow…” came a sigh from Henry. “This place is beautiful!”

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” said Leroy, placing his hands on his hips and looking up. “I’ve been here a couple times, and it’s got a lot of pokémon. Trainers love it. But wait till you see Route 210. That is twice the fun.” He smiled. “It’s got grass that’s almost up to your knees, and lots of hills and mud and stuff. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“Definitely,” Henry said.

The boys went farther in, taking a moment to look around. Michael quickly saw that they weren’t alone—presently, a group of thirty or so trainers was gathered a little bit ahead of them, following a tour guide with a sunhat and glasses. He beckoned to the trainers as he led them around, pointing out various things in the landscape and spending a good minute talking about each of them. His voice, and the chatter of the trainers, were a steady hum in the background.

“So what kinds of Bird pokémon are supposed to live here?” asked Michael.

Leroy pursed his lips. “Well… of course there are Starlies here. There are always Starlies… I saw some Staravias at one point too. I heard that there were Zubats, but I never got a chance to check. You have to get here at night to see them.”

“What about Psychics?”

“Mime Jr. and Ralts,” said Leroy, and winced slightly. “I tried catching a Ralts for my Dex, but they keep on teleporting. And it sucks, because I really want one. So, unless you want to spend the next two hours chasing a tiny pokémon around the whole countryside, I’d stick to whatever comes first.”

Having never seen a Ralts in the wild before, Michael decided to take Leroy’s word for it. “What about the Mime Jr.s?” he said. “I could raise it and have a badass Mr. Mime like Jerry.”

Leroy chuckled. “They’re not as bad as the Ralts are, but they’re good at hiding. We’ll have to keep an eye out.”

As the three boys continued through the route, the tour group progressed alongside them. The guide was leading his trainers without any regards to the main path, breaking off at various points to point out an intriguing plant or pokémon that had come into view. Presently, the tour guide came to a stop beside a clump of odd-looking trees. Their leaves were pale green, but their crowns blossomed with such a multitude of yellow flowers that the color overwhelmed everything else. The trainers oooohed in wonder.

The tour guide looked up at the trees, gesturing at the flowers. “And now, if you look right up ‘ere, you’ll see perhaps the most notorious little tree in all of Solaceon. They’re called Honey Trees, so named because of the famil'yr coloring of the blooms, and from the fact that they’re visited daily by Combees who pollinate them to make their honey. But what’s int’rsting about them is that the scent they give off makes pokémon come runnin’. Especially rare ones, pokémon that you might only find ‘round here.”

“Excuse me?” One of the trainers raised his hand. “What kinds of pokémon do you mean?”

The tour guide smiled. “Good question. We’ve seen Munchlaxes here, Bonslies, oh, even a few Cherrim at one point, and Starlies…”

Michael was only half paying attention to the tour guide’s distant words. He was more preoccupied with the route, scanning his vicinity for any sign of bird pokémon. He occasionally saw a Starly, but the birds were too high up for an accurate throw to be possible. In contrast, there seemed to be an endless abundance of pokémon down below: Caterpies crawling up trees, Bidoofs peeking out from holes in the ground, and Aipoms scampering across branches. But for now, they served only as distractions.

Leroy seemed to know where he was going for the most part, but as he too became caught up in the search, Michael noticed that they began to get sidetracked, straying from the path whenever they caught a glimpse of a promising pokémon, following a scent that often led them in circles.

They managed to stay out of the tour group’s way for a good while, but when it became clear that neither Michael nor his friends were making any sort of progress, and were instead leading themselves further and further into unknown territory, they had no choice but to tag along behind the trainers.

Michael kept his gaze fixed overhead, relentlessly scanning the treetops, only looking down periodically to make sure he hadn’t lagged too far behind. Henry and Leroy were silent beside him, being occupied with their own searching. Though neither boy seemed to notice, Michael was beginning to grow aware of a faint, musical chirping rising out from the silence, growing progressively louder as they walked.

The tour group came to a stop again, this time for a break. The trainers gathered around a row of tall trees, while the tour guide began a lecture on burrowing pokémon. Michael, Henry, and Leroy stopped just a few yards away, squatting down by a clump of bushes. Michael took the time to sweep the treetops again, and nudged Henry on the shoulder.

“Do you see anything up there?” he asked, for the umpteenth time that day, squinting against the sunlight.

Seconds later came the reply: “Shut up!”

Michael turned around, his eyes finding Henry in a flash. “What?”

But the boy looked back at him quizzically. “Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

Michael paused. After a brief silence, he continued with the only logical reply. “Yes you did.”

“No I didn’t,” Henry insisted, confusion plain on his face. “Honest. What did you hear?”

“‘Shut up’.”

Henry frowned. “Well, it wasn’t me. Maybe it was the trainers?”

Michael shook his head. “No. The voice was close. It was—” But before he could finish, he was cut off by a loud snapping sound.

“I stole George’s wallet!” someone sang.

Michael and Henry whirled around to face Leroy, the only other body in the vicinity. At the same time, Leroy turned to face them, wearing a mild expression of annoyance.

“Okay, who keeps saying that?” he asked. “Seriously, stop.”

“It’s not me!” Michael said.

“Or me,” Henry cut in.

“Shut up, shut up!” said the voice, this time more forcefully than before. All three boys jumped. Henry stood up and began to spin around in circles, eyes searching for the source of the sound. “It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere up there.” He pointed to a thin tree that stood nearby, at a middle point between them and the tour group. It had huge, fan-like leaves that blocked most of its inner structure from view.

“I stole George’s wallet, now he has to wear a bonnet!”

Michael looked over to the tree and frowned. Slowly, he stepped away from Henry and Leroy and advanced towards it. To his right, the tour group had also stilled, and appeared to be listening in. As he stepped into the tree’s shadow, Michael ducked his head in an attempt to see behind the cover of the leaves.

Suddenly, something small and brown flew out from behind the leaves and hit Michael on the head. He stumbled back, slamming his hand onto the spot and caught the object by reflex. It was a large nut.

“A penny for your troubles, sir, now go on and kick some dirt!”

Clenching his fist around the projectile, Michael chucked it back at the tree, watching it part the leaves as it whooshed by. Immediately, a chorus of loud, angry voices erupted from behind the branches, along with the rush of flapping wings that sounded like a waterfall.

“Ow!” one of the voices exclaimed.

“Owwwwww!” the others echoed.

“Help!” began another. “Help us, help!”

The resulting cries sounded similarly panicked. “Help! Help!”

Michael stared dumbly up at the talking tree, frozen in place. Henry and Leroy came to his side moments later, mouths agape. One by one, the voices lost their harmony, and broke off into several different tempos, like blinking Christmas lights. The first voice, the one Michael already recognized, kept repeating the same two lines about George. The others responded with their unfinished cries of ‘Help!’, or began to chirp other lines of their own invention. After a few seconds, almost like an automated recording, the squawking faded, leaving behind a peaceful, humming silence.

Suddenly, Michael heard a hark-hark behind him. He turned, and saw that the tour guide was laughing. “Ah, ‘ere we are!” the man said, and with a snap of his fingers, hurried over to the tree. Like a crowd at a zoo, the trainers shuffled after him, and grouped around the three boys. The tour guide stepped in front of them all and spread his arms out wide. “What you have just heard is a flock of Chatots, trainers. They’re sneaky little birds, and they have a very good ear for human speech. They dwell mostly in the tropics, 'specially further down by Pastoria, but occasionally can be found making their homes here. The females have slightly duller coloring, and larger beaks. You’ll definitely be able to tell them apart.”

“Chatot Chatot! Chatalot!”

In response to his words, a tiny body sprang out from somewhere behind the crown of the tree, and hopped down onto a branch in full view. It was a large bird. Its round belly was colored a bright yellow, its wings a deep blue. A ring of white feathers formed a funny-looking ruff around its neck, contrasting sharply with its black head. The bird peered down at the crowd of people, cocking its head to the side.

“Trainers! Trainers no-brainers!” it croaked.

The kids around Michael gasped in awe at the sight of the bird, clapping their hands over their mouths. “They’re so cute! Can I catch one, sir?” asked a young girl.

“I want one too!” said another trainer.

The tour guide chuckled. “If the Chatots don’t get the upper hand first, that is! They’re clever creatures. Mighty clev'r.” Nonetheless, he beckoned, and stepped aside to invite the trainers to move forward. A few of them separated themselves from the group, pulling out pokéballs from various pockets.

At the sounds of stirring commotion from down below, several more Chatots hopped into view beside the first. Their plumage displayed various patterns of pink, blue, black, and yellow. Some even had wings of opposite colors, and others had a mix of many on each. Michael made his decision in a heartbeat. Dropping his backpack into the grass, he pulled out a spare pokéball and approached the tree with the other trainers. The birds did not stir at the humans’ proximity; rather, for the time being, it seemed to entertain them. They looked down at the trainers, craning their necks and chirping, while Michael looked up, unsure how to best proceed.

The kids around him tried various methods, none of them successful. One girl took out a pouch of treats and proffered them from her palm. “Here, birdy-birds. Come and get a snack!” The Chatots blinked at the sight of food, but none of them were dimwitted enough to fly down.

Another boy began to throw pebbles up at the tree, following Michael’s example in an attempt to startle them. The Chatots responded by beating their wings and squawking angrily, but none of them stirred from their spots. Evidently, they had been bothered this way many times before, and had mastered the art of negotiation. The boy tried throwing other, larger objects, but by the time he realized that his efforts were futile, he had gotten one of his pokéballs caught in a tangle of branches, along with a clear plastic case. Michael had a strong suspicion that this was how George had lost his wallet.

The teasing game continued for another whole minute. During that time, Michael stood with his arms crossed, the pokéball clutched loosely in his right hand, maintaining eye contact with the birds for as long as he could manage before they turned away from him. (He had never seen anyone stare a pokémon down before, but you never knew.)

Then, without warning, one of the trainers finally lost his patience. Slapping his knees in frustration, a short boy whipped out a pokéball from his backpack. “That’s it, I’m sick of this! Go, Marill!” A jet of white rushed out of the capsule, fading to expose a round, blue pokémon. The Marill landed in the grass, its tail bouncing, and the boy pointed up to the branches. “Use Water Gun!”

“No, you idiot!” a girl cried out. Several others echoed her, but they were too late.

The Marill pressed both arms to its fat belly and blasted a jet of water from its mouth, engulfing a whole section of the tree behind a rushing blur. One of the Chatots was knocked off its feet from the force of the impact, and was left gripping the branch with its feet for dear life. Its companions, likewise, were sent into a panic, and began to gab and screech incoherently. The tree began to shake as if from a chain reaction, and the flapping of wings rose to a roar.

The tour guide’s face blanched into a mask of horror. He stumbled back, eyes bulging. “Run!” he called to the trainers. “Get away from the tree, now!”

Before Michael could react, a swarm of Chatots flew out from the tree, like so many leaves stirred up by a storm. They tore into the crowd with vicious speed, their screeches blended in with screams as they pecked and whacked at the children’s heads. Michael found himself caught in a stampede of fleeing trainers, who bumped and pushed, tripping over themselves and each other. Michael held his ground as best as he could, elbowing away trainers who pushed past him, and at the same time trying to locate a bird he could catch. But from the start, it was clear that it would be a vain effort: the Chatots formed a raging cloud that nearly blotted out the rest of the route; flying with such speed that it was impossible to distinguish one bird’s feathers from another’s. Ignoring the tour guide’s warning, a few of the trainers held their own against the attacks, throwing pokéballs at the air in defense. The capsules activated with the sound of a hundred explosions, sucking out one airborne body after another in bursts of brilliant light. Michael narrowed his eyes into slits against the glare, gripping his pokéball tighter and tighter until it seemed like the casing would crack. He couldn’t discern anything in the mess of voices around him, nor in the blizzard of color that flashed with dizzying frequency in his eyes.

In the midst of his attempted concentration, two sharp talons landed in his hair, tangling and pulling it. “George is wallet! George is wallet!”

Without thinking, Michael grabbed the bird by its legs. Ignoring the angered beat of wings against his face, he twisted the pokéball open with his other hand and threw it upward. Hot, white light exploded around him, and for a brilliant, painful moment, Michael could hear the faint whirr of the capsule as it sucked in the tiny mass above him. His arms fell by reflex, hands slamming themselves over his eyes. He stumbled around, dazed by the darkness of his own eyelids and the noises that pelted him from all aides. Without knowing quite how it happened, Michael felt himself collapse into the grass.

The chaos continued around him for a few moments. Then, the noise seemed to die down in waves. The beat of footsteps faded, and the thrum of flapping wings overhead dissipated. Michael slowly opened his eyes. The Chatots were flying back to safety, scattering themselves around the neighboring trees and retreating into the shade. What was left of the tour group had fled the scene as well; many of them were running back in the direction of the town, some with pokéballs and others empty-handed.

Just then, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “Michael! Are you okay?” came Henry’s voice. The boy had appeared beside him, his hat askew, shirt matted with dirt and blades of grass.

Michael nodded, brushing the debris from his clothes and arms. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. He was still slightly dizzy, however, and after the boy let go, he had a hard time standing straight. A moment later, Leroy approached from the side, looking similarly disheveled, but otherwise unharmed.

“That was insane,” Leroy breathed, his hand pressed to his stomach. “The kid who sent out his Marill was an idiot. I seriously hope that one of those birds got his hat or something.” He swallowed, shaking his head.

Michael scanned the grass around them. “Did either of you see what happened to my pokéball?” he said. “Did I catch anything?”

“I think you did,” Henry replied. “But it was really hard to tell. People were throwing them around like crazy, and in the end they started grabbing capsules that didn’t belong to them. At any rate, this was yours.” He handed Michael a silver ball. It was still warm, and throbbed slightly, as if the pokémon inside was still trying to peck its way out.

Biting his lip, Michael knelt into the grass. “Okay, get ready. It might try to fly away.” Henry and Leroy gathered around him, giving just enough room for the pokémon to emerge. Michael twisted open the capsule, and with a rush of light, a Chatot was thrown out. Its body was positioned as if it was still flying, and its eyes were partly closed as if to protect themselves from the wind. As the white light faded, the pokémon hung over the ground for a few seconds, then plopped face-first into the grass with a human-like oomph! The bird let out a squeal, its feathers ruffling, its wings beating in an attempt to regain awareness of its location. Slowly, it lifted itself to an upright position, its eyes blinking separately at first, then adjusting to their proper rhythm. Up close, the Chatot's colors were even more striking, sharp and even like those of a hand-painted toy. Henry and Leroy immediately knelt into the grass, linking their arms with Michael’s to form a triangular cage around the pokémon. The Chatot looked around at the them, its large eyes blinking.

“Trainers no-brainers?” it said, clicking its pink beak. “Fly?”

“No, stay!” Michael growled.

“Fly!”

“No, we’re your friends!” said Henry. “You don’t have to fly away from us!”

“Fly!” the Chatot retorted. “Fly! Friends! Fly!” It began to flap its wings, lifting a foot in preparation to take off. In response, the boys leaned closer together to trap it, till their heads were almost touching. The bird continued to fidget, poking its head at them, trying to find a big enough opening in their stances to wedge itself through. When it finally realized that there were none, the bird settled down, and almost sulkily began to pace around in circles, making hm-hm noises to itself, as if sorely disappointed by its situation.

“Fly! Ends!” it began again. “Ly! Elp! My… elp!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Stay,” Michael said. “You’ve just been made an honorary member of Team Michael Rowan. And I’m Michael Rowan.” He gave the bird a glare, trying to telepathically tell it to behave. But it continued to jabber, repeating the same string of fragmented words.

“Fly! Ends! Elp my!”

“Hang on, I think it’s trying to talk,” said Leroy. Carefully, he lowered his arms and placed them on his knees. “Can you talk?”

The bird turned to Leroy, its tail flicking. “Know!” it repeated. “No-no!”

“Aww, will you try?” Henry said. “Please? Say ‘Hello. My name is Chatot!’”

“Please!” chirped the bird. “Ello aym atot!”

“No no no, you gotta give him a little help,” Michael said. He cleared his throat and pointed his finger at the bird, saying his words slowly and precisely. “We — are — your — friends... You — will— not—fly —away…”

“Help! Help!” the Chatot interrupted. “Little help! Friends!”

Michael stopped. “Huh?”

Right then, the scatterbrained bird seemed to finally find its groove. It began to sway, tapping its feet in an attempted dance. “Get by with a little elp from my friends! Elp from my friends!”

Suddenly, Michael’s face broke out into a smile. “Ha! Someone’s been teaching this thing Beatles lyrics. That’s boss.” He leaned closer to the bird, his grin spreading. “Hey, what else do you know?”

“Know it’s mine! When it turn out the light!”

Michael laughed. “This bird is far-out.” He held out his finger, and the Chatot nibbled it. “I bet he can sing the whole Sgt. Pepper’s album. Hey, do you know ‘Getting Better’?”

The Chatot shook its head, continuing its crackly melody. “Elp from my friends! Turn out the light! Know it’s mine!”

Leroy joined in. “How about ‘Fixing a Hole’?”

“No-no-no!”

“Lucy in the sky?” Henry tried.

But the Chatot continued to sing the same melody, replacing the song’s lyrics with the words the boys kept feeding it, till its composition made no sense whatsoever. Sitting back on his legs, Michael sighed. “I guess that’s the only song this guy knows. Hey bird, why do you like that song so much? Are you Ringo Starr or something?”

The Chatot cocked its head at Michael. “Ring-go! Elp from my friends!” It ruffled its wings and tucked them neatly against its sides. It seemed to have lost all interest in flying away, being more entertained with giving its mini-production. Or maybe it had grown to like them already. Whatever the reason, Michael had the feeling that he had made a very good catch.

Still laughing a bit to himself, Michael shook his head in response to the Chatot’s curious silence. “Well, then I guess you are,” he said.

“How’s it hanging, Ringo?” Leroy reached out with his hand, and the bird allowed him to stroke its head.

“Try to make him sit on your arm!” Henry suggested to Michael.

Michael shrugged. “Sure.” He held out his arm, lowering it into the grass in front of the bird. Slowly, the Chatot lifted a foot and placed it on his hand. Then the other. The skin on the bird’s feet was rough and bumpy, and its claws prickled his arm, though not altogether in a painful way. As the three boys stood up, the Chatot shuffled around to find its balance, settling midway to Michael's elbow. Its weight felt foreign at first to him, but gradually, he became used to its presence.

Michael walked around for a bit, keeping his arm extended in front of him, while the bird shuffled around, peering first at the trees, then back at the two boys who followed behind.

“Well, that was a good day,” Henry said, he and Leroy falling into step beside Michael. “Now you finally have a Flying type for the Gym.”

Michael nodded. “Yup. Now all I’ve gotta do is see what moves he knows, train him up a bit, and then I’ll be set.” He looked over to Ringo, giving his arm a light shake. “Ready to show Lona Walker who’s boss?”

“Ringo! Alker! Boss!”

Michael grinned. Though the bird could speak only a few words at a time, he had no doubt that they saw eye-to-eye on the matter.

“Hooo-boy...” Leroy exhaled, a gesture mixed with humor and disbelief as he watched the bird. “Wait till everyone sees you have a Chatot. He’ll be a hit at the Gym. I’ve heard that they can be really… rambunctious.” He smiled. “Mind if I add him to my Dex?”

“Sure,” Michael said, holding out his arm. Ringo shifted around, his eyes finding Leroy as the boy brought out the metallic device.

"Oh, and by the way," said Leroy, as he switched on the screen, "it's official. The lab is drawing up plans for a new model of the Data Exploiter, and they decided to shorten its name. I mentioned 'PokéDex' to them and they liked it. They had a vote, and they decided it was better than the other names that were in the running."

Michael laughed. "Like what?"

"Most of them were similar to yours. I guess there's really not much you can do with the name 'Pokémon Data Exploiter'. There was 'Data-X', 'PDE', 'XPloiter'... I can't remember them all. But 'PokéDex' seemed like the best. Not too short, not too long." When the interface finally finished loading, Leroy snapped his fingers, and opened up a new entry for Chatot. He began to work, fingers strumming on the keypad, and a minute later, held up the finished entry. “Done! Tell me what you think.” He passed the PokéDex to Michael.

No. 130 CHATOT [Flying]
------------------------------
These pokémon are distinguished by their voices, which can imitate a person’s speech almost perfectly. Apart from that, they’re really cunning, and if you’re not careful then they can pull tricks on you like stealing your wallet. They dwell mostly in the tropics, living in large trees with their families. Their feathers are really bright and colorful, but they’re also good at hiding themselves, so you’ll have to look hard in order to find one. They may have a preference for Beatles lyrics, but more study is needed to confirm.


Michael lowered the PokéDex and chuckled. “Nice.”

“Thanks,” said Leroy. “The last line was genius, I think.”

Michael passed the Dex to Henry, who laughed as well when he reached the end. “This is great!” he said. “Yours must be the best entries, Leroy.”

“Nah, they’re not that good. If you could read some of the other kids’ Dexes, you’d be laughing your pants off. The professor’s staff are holding little contests at the end of the session to see who had the funniest entries, the most detailed ones, and all that. But… yeah.” Leroy waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just worried about finishing the whole thing.” Nevertheless, a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips.

After gathering their stuff from the now-empty field, the three boys set out towards Solaceon. With the addition of a Flying type to his team, Michael felt that his odds had significantly improved, though he would need to see what Ringo could do in order to assess his strength. He and Henry agreed to see the Move Tutor before doing any more catching, to see what they could do with the teams they had.

Apart from being Michael’s main hope for the Gym, Ringo turned out to provide lively company along the way. Besides the fact that he could imitate most of what the boys said to him, he had a knack of making up phrases of his own in return, some of which Michael vowed to remember. (Trainers no-brainers and Lona groan-a were among his favorites.) The boys played a sort of game with the bird, having Ringo hop from one arm to the next, occasionally piping his made-up phrases. But the bird seemed to prefer Michael’s shoulder, from where he could turn around freely to glare at anything he liked. The boys laughed and talked to their new companion as they left the route, content to take whatever path they happened upon.


It was past noon when they reached the Trainer’s Hotel. Leroy stopped Michael and Henry by the front doors, saying that his shift would be starting soon. The boys agreed to meet again later that day, if not to catch pokémon then to simply wander about the town. It was something that, for once, Michael could look forward to.

Before the trio parted ways, Leroy showed them the Dex entries for Lona’s entire team, as a token of good luck for the battles to come.


No. 125 HITMONCHAN [Fighting]
------------------------------
A pokémon that likes to punch things. Its two hands grow in the shape of boxer’s gloves, and many trainers like to cover them with rough fabric to make them extra hard and powerful. Hitmonchans can punch at a rate of three times per second, with a force that can knock even Gravelers off their feet. On top of that, they’re nimble, and can dance circles around an enemy to confuse them before clobbering them over the head. However, Hitmonchans tire easily, which makes them unfit for long-term battle.


No. 126 CROAGUNK [Fighting/Poison]
------------------------------
Croagunk’s cheeks are filled with poison, as are its claws. You’ll commonly see them trying to jab at their opponents. The venom quickly makes the victim confused and uncoordinated, a state that can last for many hours afterward. Village lore says that it can also be used as a remedy for back pain, but I would advise against it. Getting your hands on a Croagunk is pretty hard, and you might find your pokémon (or yourself!) twisted in circles by its speed and trickery. This is definitely the last pokémon you should expect to play it nice.


No. 127 HITMONLEE [Fighting]
------------------------------
The cousin of Hitmonchan, though this guy’s specialty is kicking. It has pretty good balance, which enables it to kick a foe from pretty much any position, whether it be on its feet, or standing on its hands. On the upside, if its feet are bound or immobilized, it can’t do much about it. Hitmonlees are native to the mountains of Kanto, where they live in large tribes in which rank is determined by strength. So you should expect any Hitmonlee you meet in battle to be a tough one.


No. 128 MACHOKE [Fighting]
------------------------------
This guy is an all-out powerhouse. He’s fast, he’s strong, and he makes his little brother Machop seem like a chew toy. They are often used by move crews to lift heavy furniture, and also by Gym leaders to lift enemy pokémon before splatting them against the ground. It used to be legal to fight against them in wrestling tournaments, but after many complaints and injuries, the practice was outlawed. Machokes are allowed in battle only if they wear a belt to suppress their power. In summary, if you walk into a bar one day looking for a fight, and see that a Machoke is in the room, cut it as fast as you can. They don’t play around.

Elite Overlord LeSabre™ April 21st, 2012 1:06 PM

My apologies for the short review, but at least it's quick :P

I've always loved the secret meetings :)

Quote:

“There’s nothing good in the water here,” he said. “I’ve gotten five of these already.”
Ah, the joy of catching Magikarp after Magikarp :P

Quote:

Uh… it’s pretty hard, actually. I don’t know how to do it, but I’ve heard about it from people, and they say it’s pretty complicated.
Suppose these are the days before TM's then. Looks like Move Tutors definitely had a more important role back in the day, but now it's got me wondering when TMs were developed and who came up with the idea.

Route 209 and Solaceon here are interesting because my mystery contest fic has that car chase scene that goes right through that general area. Biggest change would be that there is a paved road through 209 in mine, and I don't think my Solaceon is that big... it was just a place that was passed by... by criminals and a whole crew of cops doing close to 100, lol

Beware flocks of really ticked off bird Pokemon xD But now comes the million dollar question... should I have Lisa catch a Chatot and teach it 80's songs? I think it would be interesting if she still journeyed, but now that she's doing special agent stuff, I don't think a singing Chatot would fit in well during car chases xD

Quote:

“Ringo! Alker! Boss!”
It's on now :P

Next chapter is more Lona-style training, I presume? Hopefully either (a) Michael gets another judge, or (b) he uses Ringo to put her in her place. However it plays out, I'm hoping that Michael's second day of training there is better than the disaster that was the first. And the evil sadistic side of me wants to see how Henry will handle the pressure of having Lona breathe down his neck, lol

And am I the only one who wants to see another character named Walker, this one employed as a Texas Ranger, to take Lona to school, so to speak?

Haruka of Hoenn April 23rd, 2012 12:10 PM

Quote:

And am I the only one who wants to see another character named Walker, this one employed as a Texas Ranger, to take Lona to school, so to speak?
Oh gosh. xP I didn't even make that connection. Don't worry, the second day of training won't be nearly as bad as the first. I didn't plan for Henry to have Lona as a referee in this next chapter, but a Henry-Lona scene is something that I'd love to see play out. So I might do something in the future chapters, depending on how the rest of the plot goes.

Quote:

Beware flocks of really ticked off bird Pokemon xD But now comes the million dollar question... should I have Lisa catch a Chatot and teach it 80's songs? I think it would be interesting if she still journeyed, but now that she's doing special agent stuff, I don't think a singing Chatot would fit in well during car chases xD
Stilll... I think it would be a pretty funny picture to see Lisa speeding in the front seat of a Buick with a Chatot turned around on her shoulder, shouting verbal abuse at the pursuers. :P

Quote:

Route 209 and Solaceon here are interesting because my mystery contest fic has that car chase scene that goes right through that general area. Biggest change would be that there is a paved road through 209 in mine, and I don't think my Solaceon is that big... it was just a place that was passed by... by criminals and a whole crew of cops doing close to 100, lol
Solaceon was never my favorite town in the games, but in the story I decided to give it some extra flair. Strangely, with Lona and her Gym around, I hate it less than I did before. Try to imagine that.

Move Tutors definitely have importance in this day and age, and you'll see how that whole thing works in the next chapter. It's in the works, but progress might be hindered by final exam week. The good news is that once classes end, I'll have a lot more free time to write.

Thanks for stopping by, LeSabre!

Haruka of Hoenn May 12th, 2012 3:59 PM

2.5

That afternoon, Michael and Henry were in their hotel room. Henry was kneeling beside the window, holding the Stunky’s cage aloft with one hand while he peered through the bars. The other hand held a silver pokéball, which the Stunky’s eyes found at the last minute, after it had turned around to face its visitor. Eyes drifting towards the reflective orb, the Stunky purred in confusion.

“That’s right,” said Henry, smiling. “You’re going to live in one of these now.” He proffered the capsule to the cage’s bars. The Stunky continued to stare at him, periodically glancing over to Michael, who stood with his hands in his pockets a few feet away.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?” Michael asked. “Come on, so we can go get lunch. I’m starving.”

Henry tapped his chin, keeping silent for a few seconds. He placed the cage down, then carefully unscrewed the knob of the pokéball, pointing it at the Stunky and closing his eyes. “All right, here it goes…”

Michael watched as a beam of light pierced through the bars and engulfed the Stunky’s body in white. The pokémon’s silhouette remained for a split second, then slowly dissolved out of thin air, rushing back into the capsule. Henry clicked the pokéball closed and dropped it into his tote bag. And that was that.

Strangely, Michael did not mind giving the Stunky away. (Technically, it was still his, but at this point, it didn’t matter to him which one of them took the responsibility of carrying it around.) And Henry seemed happy, so everyone was a winner. Michael grabbed the cage on his way to the door, and once they got out to the hallway, he sought out a huge trash bin and dropped it inside. He looked down at the cage for a moment, thinking back to all he had been through with it, as well as the pokémon who had been its occupant. It was almost like throwing away a part of his life, locking it in distant memory. But Michael had no doubt that this was for the best, and with all the traveling he had ahead of him, he would have to lighten his load.

For lunch, he and Henry went to a café down the street. It was teeming with families and groups, people who had arrived in the nick of time for lunch. Like most buildings in Solaceon, the café was bright and tidy—and pokémon friendly. The critters scurried beneath tables and around people’s feet, often stopping to nibble from bowls of food set aside by the walls. They even approached tables, where eager hands reached down to pet them, as if they were just as much guests here as the people were.

Michael and Henry got a small table to themselves, where they ate in silence for a while, watching the proceedings. Rather than talking, Henry seemed more interested in the pokémon that wandered by, and after a moment, turned around to face Michael. “We should let out Stunky,” he said.

Michael stopped chewing. “Uh… what?”

“You know, so he can roam around town. We’re not gonna be around that often to keep him company, so now that he has a pokéball instead of a cage, he can walk around and explore on his own, like the other pokémon. Then at the end of the day he’ll come back.”

Without warning, Michael began to laugh, hiccupping as he struggled to swallow. “And if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t think he’ll run away,” Henry said.

Michael leaned back, lifting both hands in surrender. “Your ball, your call, man. Do what you want. But I’m telling you now—if he runs away, it’s your problem.”

Henry made a hmph sound, crossing his arms. “You’ll see! Just wait, Michael.” He took out the Stunky’s pokéball bag and turned it over so that the purple sticker was visible. Then he pointed it towards the open aisle. “All right, come on out little buddy!” He twisted the knob, and the Stunky emerged in a halo of white light, landing squarely on all fours. It pawed around beneath the table for a bit, then backed away so that it could look up at the boys.

“Go on,” said Henry. “See those plates of food over there? They’re all yours. Go get ‘em, and don’t let any of those other guys shove you away! Go!” He pointed to the food bowls standing in the corner, where a small crowd of pokémon was gathered. The Stunky hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make up its mind. With its tail upheld, it crossed the aisle, skipping around the feet of passerby on its way to the bowls. Watching all this, Michael shook his head slowly, and went back to eating.

They left the café a few minutes later, leaving Stunky behind. Still sitting by the food bowls, the pokémon looked up at the boys as they lingered by the exit. His eyes held the same steady, wary look that appeared whenever there was a situation involving him, as if he was trying to figure out what his captors were planning. Or maybe Michael was imagining things again.


The next morning, he arrived at the Gym in a slightly better-kempt state. His clothes were neat, his hair was (somewhat) brushed, and his wristband was on this time. When his name was called on the roll, Michael approached the front desk and held up the band to the clerk, who marked down his name.

“All right, Mr’Rowan, welcome. Your room today is thirty-five, in the left hall.” She pointed to the door. But before Michael could leave, the lady tapped his shoulder and held him back. “Wait. Hold y’r horses a minute.”

Michael turned back to her. “What?” Immediately, his mind began to race. Oh God. I did something wrong. It’s only my second day and I’ve already screwed something up. He fixed his gaze on the counter and braced himself.

The lady bent down beneath the desk and came up with a small envelope. “This came to the Gym’s P.O. box last evening. It’s addressed to you.”

As he took the envelope, Michael was washed with relief. He turned to Henry, who was in line behind him.

Wait for me! the boy mouthed. Michael sat down by the benches, and once Henry had presented his wristband, he came over to join him.

“What is it?” Henry asked, taking a seat. Michael broke the envelope’s seal with his finger and pulled out a typed letter. It was a telegram from Nancy Bryan.


Michael—

Congrats on your first publication! Your article made it to page twenty-eight, in the ‘Arts and Recreation’ section of
The Hearthome Times. I would have mailed you a copy of the paper, but I was afraid that the package wouldn’t get to you in time. So the next time you happen to be somewhere that sells newspapers, be sure to check it out! They must have liked your story a lot to accept it. I think you have talent as a writer.

As for us, unfortunately, the story didn’t get accepted by SNN. They didn’t think it was interesting, so that means we have to keep searching. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault—they’re just really picky. So we’ll be on the move a lot for the next few months, looking out for the next big thing. (Whatever that is!) Just keep checking the TV, and maybe one day you’ll see us on there. And we’ll keep checking the newspaper racks for the next time your name appears in the by-line. I do hope you’ll keep writing, and I wish you luck in whatever you may want to try in the future!

So, with all that said, I hope everything’s going great for you. Bobby says hey.

Best wishes,

—Nancy



His heart racing, Michael scanned over the lines a second time, unable to believe what had happened. Henry, who was reading over his shoulder, widened his eyes. “Wow! Michael, you’re in a newspaper! That’s practically like being famous!”

Michael shook his head dismissively, though his smile grew ever wider. “Nah, this is page twenty-eight. That’s not famous. Wait till I make the front cover. Then we’ll start talking.”

“Then you’ll have to find a new friend,” said Henry with feigned gloom. “I’ll be swept away by tides of fans!”

Michael laughed. “Well, you never know. If I’m up to it, I might let you stay as my manager. You’ll get to plan my tour of the world one day. That’s after we win the Championship, of course. We’ll be the youngest prodigies the world has ever known.” He folded up the letter and slipped it into the envelope, giving it an extra pat of good luck. In scarcely two minutes, he had been elevated from glum exhaustion to the happiest he had felt in days. Nothing could ruin his day now. Not even if Lona herself walked into his battle room, tapping the floor with a pitchfork.

With that, the boys set off towards their battle rooms. Michael’s referee was a guy, his partner a young girl. Both of them were practical and laid-back, and for the next two hours, he enjoyed a conventional, tension-free battle session.

Michael’s pokémon-of-choice that day was Ringo. As expected, the bird proved to be just as loud and nimble in battle as he had been in his tree. He tore into his opponent with his claws as well as his beak, plucking and pecking from high above. His first opponent was a Meditite, which he had no problem taking care of, staging an intense rally of Pecks and Scratches and Head-Clobberings.

When the pokémon fainted, Ringo flapped over to Michael and began to circle around his head, his beak clicking. Me-di-tite we showed ‘im right!

Michael lasted through the entire first round with Ringo alone, though when the bird began to tire, he sent him back at once. He rotated the remaining members of his team, and pulled through with a double victory, earning two points for the day. He considered it to be the perfect comeback from last time—and there wasn’t a single pink jacket in sight.

After finishing his battle, Michael met Henry in the lobby. The boys shared their results as they left the Gym, and when they were well out of earshot, began to discuss Lona’s team. They had met with Leroy briefly the previous afternoon, and had come to an agreement that it was better to wait for the Move Tutor’s feedback before catching any new pokémon. So after leaving the Gym, Michael and Henry immediately set off to find him.

Their search led them to a more developed part of Solaceon, where the pastures were cut off in part to make room for a modern-looking neighborhood. Lester Road was a straight, paved path that ran through a community of houses, whose cozy, compact design contrasted sharply with the lavish barn-mansions on the other side of town. The layout of the street slightly reminded Michael of home—the curbs were marked by ledges, the houses had porches and garages, and the mailboxes stood right beside the driveways.

The mailbox numbered 4112 appeared at the edge of a quiet intersection, surrounded by decorative stones. The home itself bore no indicator that a distinguished individual dwelled inside it. The porch was completely clear, with no decorations or furnishings besides a worn-out welcome mat. A tangled broom leaned against the wall.

Michael stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell. A faint ding ding resonated from within, but no one answered. He tried again, and this time, heard a scuffle.

“Coming!” came a voice.

The doorknob wrenched as it was turned, and a second later, the door flew open, nearly smacking Michael in the face. He stumbled back in surprise, catching Henry by the shoulder, making them both trip down the steps. Michael regained his balance just in time to see a man poke his head through the doorway. Upon seeing the two boys that had nearly been thrown into the street, the fellow winced.

“Ack. Sorry. Mine’s the only door on the block that does this… I’ve been trying to get it fixed, but the repair guys can’t come to take a look at it until next week… Sorry, again.” The man scratched his head, stepping out in full to meet them. His hair was dark brown, slightly ruffled as if from a long day of work. The cuffs of his shirt were rolled up, and a pair of glasses hung askew from the collar.

Michael stepped back to the porch, clearing his throat. “Uh… hey. We’re trainers, and we heard that a guy called the Move Tutor lives here. Do you know him?”

The man smiled. “Ah, right. That would be me, actually.” He proffered his hand. “My name’s Ted. May I have the honor of knowing yours?”

Michael took the man’s hand and shook. “Michael.”

The boy came up from behind. “And I’m Henry!”

“Great,” said Ted. “It’s nice to meet you both. Now, you might as well come in. I’ve been doing some belated spring cleaning, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” He stepped back, opening the door wider to allow them in.

Inside, the house had a cluttered, albeit cozy feel. Upon entering, Michael felt like he had been immersed in the world of a scholar. Bookshelves almost as high as the ceiling lined the walls of the room, some of them full to bursting, others like mouths with missing teeth, their contents piled in boxes on the floor. The presence of books was overwhelming; Michael noticed them in other places too, like on the windowsill, or beneath a potted plant on the table. Little room was made for the other necessities of life, and it seemed that some furniture had been almost grudgingly accommodated. A TV set was sandwiched in between two shelves, awkwardly blocking the bottom half of a window, and a lone armchair stood in the corner, accompanied by a small table that also bore its share of the burden. It was a subtle, yet striking image—clearly the house had only one occupant.

Michael and Henry stood at the center of the main room, observing the mess around them with wonder. It was an artistic sort of mess, the kind that betrayed inspiration rather than carelessness. At the presence of his new guests, however, Ted seemed in even more of a rush to clean things up. He scampered around the room, pushing aside boxes and moving stacks of books from one surface to another. It didn’t help in the slightest, but from the simple show of effort, Ted seemed satisfied. He wiped his brow and sighed. “Sorry about this, again,” he said. “I’ve been reorganizing my library. I have a lot of old books I don’t need anymore, and they were taking up the shelf space I need for my new ones. Normally, I hate throwing out books, but there’s only so much a house can hold…” He began to laugh, shifting his gaze from Michael to Henry. But when he saw that neither of them reciprocated, he grew serious once more and cleared his throat. “Anyways. You’re here because you want me to teach your pokémon a move, right?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah. And we also want to know how the whole move thing works. Like, can we learn to teach our pokémon moves by ourselves?”

“And is it allowed?” Henry piped up. “Because, you know. If it’s not…” He fell silent before he could finish. Ted, however, seemed to catch on to his train of thought.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking about, but trust me, this is perfectly legal. The League can’t prohibit pokémon moves. It would be a self-contradiction, really, since the whole point of training pokémon is to help them get more powerful. If the League really wanted to, I guess it could enact a rule saying that you can’t teach any outrageous, one-hit-knockout attacks to substitute for the effort of training a weak pokémon, but it would be completely pointless. Few pokémon can learn those types of moves, and to do that, they’d already have to be powerful far beyond an average kid’s training capabilities.” Ted crossed his arms, eyeing the boys matter-of-factly. “So if you were looking for me to teach Horn Drill to your Goldeen, then I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.”

“It’s all right,” Michael said. “We just want to know if any of our pokémon can learn Psychic or Flying moves.”

Ted nodded, rubbing his chin. “That’s fair enough. Psychic and Flying are pretty versatile move types, since you don’t always have to be a Psychic or Flying pokémon to use them. So we shouldn’t have a problem.” He pulled a stool over to one of the full bookshelves, and stepped up to the topmost row of volumes. He ran his finger down the spines, murmuring. “Give me a second to find the manual I need,” he said back to the boys. “For now, can you release the pokémon you want to teach? I’d like to take a look at them too.”

While Ted searched through the shelves, Michael and Henry took out their pokéballs and released their teams. The pokémon popped into the room one after another, slowly filling it with noise and chatter. They climbed over books, greeting each other with grunts and squeals. Ringo emerged from his pokéball with a screech, perching himself atop the TV set and beating his wings. In response, Starly fluttered over to the table and began to hop around, as if trying to find a higher surface to perch upon.

By chance, Michael’s eyes landed on Burmy, who was lying still on the floor. The cloak of leaves that covered his tiny body began to shrivel, each one melting away its shape and pooling into a smooth outer coating. The green color faded away, bringing forth a startling hue—a bright pink.

Ted, who had turned away from the shelf at that moment with two books in his hands, saw the pokémon and smiled. “Ah. You have a Burmy. Wonderful little creatures. I happen to have one too, though she’s already grown into a Wormadam. Their cloaks change in response to their environment. We don’t see much of the pink ones here, as much as we see the leaves and soil. Pink is what they put on when adapting to urban locations.”

“But why pink?” Michael asked, at the same time looking at Henry. The boy was smiling, clearly having seen this transformation before.

“There have been a few guesses,” said Ted. “For one, pink’s not a common color in nature, so I suppose to adapt to non-nature he’d have to select a non-natural color. There’s a lot more I can get into, but I don’t think you’d want to hear it all. You came here to learn moves, not listen to pokémon lectures.” Smiling, Ted sat down on the floor and placed his books beside him. “All righty, let’s take a look at what we have.” He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and held out his hands to Turtwig, who happened to be nearby. Turtwig willingly approached, and Ted gently cupped his hands around the pokémon’s head. “Hmm. There isn’t much I can do for this one. I can place my bet on defensive Psychic moves like Light Screen, but I assume you want actual attack moves, correct?”

Michael nodded.

Ted gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Well, like I said, this guy’s options are limited. Psychic attacks require a bit more mental power than defenses, and Turtwig evolutions don’t have the kind that’s needed. Same for Flying, but it’s pretty obvious why. Sorry, little fella.” Ted stroked Turtwig’s cheek, and gently turned him away. Michael called Turtwig back into his pokéball.

“What about Machop, then?” Michael said. The pokémon was currently standing on his toes by the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the sight of sunlight. Michael took him by the arm and led him over to Ted.

Ted looked at Machop for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I think it’s going to be the same story for this one. I can give him Meditate, which is what a lot of Fighting Types have the capacity to learn, but all it will do is improve his coordination. You can have him meditate right before a battle, to make sure he keeps his focus.”

Michael snickered at the thought of his Machop meditating. Nevertheless, the idea sounded good to him. He let go of Machop’s wrist and nudged him forward. “Done deal,” he said.

“All right. Just have him stand over there.” Ted pointed to the armchair. “Next?”

As Machop ambled over to the other side of the room, Michael picked up Goldeen and placed her before Ted. Instantly, the Move Tutor’s face lit up. “Ah, that’s much better. I can teach Goldeen Psybeam, which is an excellent offensive move, and Peck as well, since the species has hardened skin around the lips.”

Michael smiled in relief. “Great.”

Ted brought Goldeen over to where Machop was and lowered her into the armchair. Then his gaze swept across the room, and landed on Starly and Ringo, who were squabbling noisily atop the TV set, rattling the antennae with their wings. Ted ran over to break them apart. “Settle down, you two, settle down.” He slid both hands under the birds’ feet and caught them from beneath, transferring their weight to his arms. “Now these two can obviously learn more Flying moves,” said Ted, “But you’ll have to tell me which ones they already know so I’ll have something to work off of.”

“That’s easy,” said Henry. “Starly knows Peck, Wing Attack, and Brave Bird.”

Michael thought for a moment. “Ringo knows Peck and Scratch… and he can chatter.” He looked at the bird, who clucked his beak in reply. “Ringo chatter! Bingo platter!”

Ted chuckled. He sat down again, keeping both arms upheld to support their passengers. “I think I know just the move for these two: Aerial Ace. It’s a simple technique, but it’s highly useful.” Using his feet, Ted slid himself over to the books he had set aside. Looking closer, Michael saw that they were manuals of some sort, one titled for Psychic moves and the other for Flying.

“Could you give me a hand with these?” said Ted. “Open up the Flying book to the section for Aerial Ace. It should be somewhere in the beginning.”

Michael lifted the Flying book and skimmed through the pages. Each move was discussed in its own chapter, which contained a section of tedious theoretical explanations, and a section with pictures. The diagrams were something that Michael would expect to see in a martial arts book—they depicted bird pokémon performing several stages of the maneuver, a fully broken-down version of the technique that often stretched for more than a page. When he reached the chapter titled ‘Aerial Ace’, he lowered the book in front of Ted.

“Thanks.” Ted lowered his left arm to turn the pages, and in response, Starly retreated higher up his shoulder. “All right. Aerial Ace. I’ve taught this move hundreds of times before, so it won’t take me long to do it for your pokémon. But I’ll need one valuable thing from you first—cooperation. I’m going to give you a system of exercises for your pokémon to practice, and I’ll need you to stick to it for as long as I say, okay?”

“Wait a minute,” Michael said. “So we’re going to do the tutoring?”

“No, no, not at all,” Ted replied. “I’m going to show you and your pokémon the technique right here, we’ll practice it a couple times, but for the next day or so you’ll have to keep practicing with them on your own. Then, once your pokémon can perform the move sequence described by the diagrams on their own, come back and I’ll give them the final boost they need to start using the move. The whole concept behind move tutoring is that every pokémon has a set of physical capabilities, paired with a set of mental scenarios that tell it how to use them. And to teach a new attack, all we have to do is show the pokémon a different scenario, meaning a different way to use their powers.”

It took a moment for Ted’s explanation to sink in, but Michael nevertheless understood. He gave Ted an affirmative nod, and Henry mimicked the motion. Ted smiled. “Great. Then we’re all set to go. As for you two…” Looking up at the bird pokemon on his shoulders, Ted stood up and brushed them away, letting them off into the air. Henry lifted his Burmy and brought him over to Ted.

“What about him?” Henry held out the pink cotton ball, and the pokémon inside wiggled its feet, trying to find the ground. Ted pursed his lips in an expression of pity.

“Sorry, but you’re a bit too early for this guy… he won’t start learning Psychic moves until he evolves. For now, he’s limited to Bug moves, and some Normal ones.” Ted lifted his finger to touch the Burmy’s pink cloak, pressing softly to test its firmness. The Burmy continued to fidget, trying to pull itself back into its shell. “Has he learned Protect yet?”

Henry lowered the pokémon to look at Ted. “Huh?”

“Has your Burmy ever tried to pull itself into its shell when in a battle?”

Henry thought for a bit, then nodded. “I think so… I mean, he likes to stay inside of his cloak a lot, and when he’s in battle he sometimes tries to hide again. But when he gets knocked around by his opponent a lot, he ends up coming out.”

“Hmm. That could mean that your Burmy is trying to learn the move, but hasn’t developed its focus enough yet. I’ll tell you what—I’ll teach it to him. Protect’s a really useful move. You’ll thank me later.”

Henry nodded, and went to put Burmy back into the pokéball. Ted examined the rest of the boys’ pokémon, and told them what moves each of them could know. To no one’s surprise, Pachirisu and Caterpie weren’t good for much, but Clefable (which surprised Michael even less) had a wide range of opportunities. Henry finally settled on the combination of Psychic and Calm Mind, which Ted promised would maximize the power of all non-contact moves, including Gravity. Michael decided on Aerial Ace for Ringo, and Psybeam and Peck for Goldeen.

Ted wrote down their requests on a loose sheet of paper and retreated further into the house, where Michael could hear him rummaging, opening and closing doors. He came back about a minute later, clapping his hands together. “All right. Follow me, and I’ll show you to the workroom.” He beckoned, and the boys followed, pulling their remaining pokémon after them. Michael grabbed Goldeen with one arm and extended the other to make a perch for Ringo. Henry was similarly accessorized, with Starly on his shoulder and Burmy wrapped in his arms. Only Clefable was able to walk soberly between the boys, while Starly and Ringo kept shooting threatening glares at each other.

Ted’s workroom was an almost identical backdrop of pale walls, bookshelves, and a wooden floor. The clutter lessened here, however, and more space was made for two long tables at the very center of the room.

Ted came around to the tables and set down his books. “If I may ask why do you want such a narrow move pool? Most trainers who come in here just want whatever powerful moves their pokémon can grasp.”

“We…” Henry began, but in the middle, he trailed off. He looked to Michael for help.

“We just wanted to improve our versatility,” Michael said. “For future Gyms, you know.”

Ted lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Ah. Are you still in this town’s Gym, or did you finish it already?”

“No, we’re still doing it.”

“And how is it?”

Michael spent a few seconds searching for the right words. “The Gym leader is… difficult.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Ted replied. “A lot of the trainers I see have said the same thing, actually. But I’m sure whatever they’re doing is for your own good. A little challenge now and then is a natural part of life. It makes you a better person, in the end...” Still holding Starly’s tiny feet with his fingers, Ted placed his other hand on the bird’s neck and squeezed gently, rubbing the feathers. The bird quit its fidgeting, and relaxed against his grip. “There. Now, we’ll guide this fellow through the move sequence to familiarize him with it. You pay attention too, because you’ll have to memorize it.”

Henry nodded.

Looking away from the book, Ted grasped the bird’s limbs and began to move them, as if he were fixing a toy. He held the Starly’s wings over its head, then bent them down, and simultaneously pushed its neck forward, so the bird looked like it was about to dive beak-first from the sky. Ted kept a slow, methodic pace in his work, but even so, Michael could barely follow the motions of his hands and fingers. It was as if Starly was moving by himself.

When Ted finished the sequence, he brought Starly back to the starting position and did it again. “Be sure you do this three times a day, morning, afternoon, and evening,” he said. “You really have to make sure your pokémon remembers everything properly. If you ever need help, just drop by. I’m free for most of the day.”

Henry nodded. “Okay.”

When he finished with Starly, Ted let the bird go, and stroked its neck. He handed him over to Henry, then extended his arm out towards Ringo. “All righty. Time for Chatot.”

Ringo ruffled his feathers and backed away, shaking his head. But Michael brought him forward, sliding him off his shoulder and onto the table. “Stay, Ringo,” he ordered.

Ted placed both hands over Ringo’s wings to steady him. The bird began to shake itself, trying to wrench free of his grip. “Stop it don’t kill me! Ringo doesn’t want to learn! No-no!”

Keeping his grip steady, Ted performed the first round slowly, just as he had done for Starly. But while the small bird had been like a limp puppet in Ted’s hands, Ringo was more like a frightened child being forced to swim. He gave high-pitched screams in response to the most basic actions, such as lifting a wing, and often verbalized his suffering as he tried to evade Ted’s fingers.

Instead of becoming annoyed, Ted began to improvise, often giving the bird a light shake to calm him down. By the time he began the second round, a smile was growing on Ted’s face, and on Ringo’s a grudging submission. When Ted finished with him, he let Ringo stumble from the table on his own and flap back to Michael’s shoulder, angrily clicking his beak. If there was anything that bird wanted right then, Michael guessed, it would have been a large pebble.

Now finished with Flying, Ted closed the book and opened the Psychic one. Interestingly, the exercises for Psybeam and Psychic had a physical basis just like Aerial Ace, and for each of their pokémon, Ted knew exactly what to do. By the end of their session, move tutoring seemed like a craft to Michael, just as much as painting or writing. Ted seemed so absorbed and attentive in his task that he stopped talking to the boys altogether, instead murmuring a bit to the pokémon and himself. ‘That’s it… right there.” Michael became convinced that nothing he or Henry could do on their own would ever match this man’s skill. But he memorized each sequence as best as he could, knowing that trying was better than doing nothing.

By the time Ted was done, almost two hours had gone by. After finishing with Clefable, he breathed a sigh and stacked up the books, placing them back on the shelf. He did not immediately kick them out after finishing, however. In a surprising gesture of hospitality, Ted made tea for the boys, and after they had sent back all their pokémon, the three of them sat together at the kitchen table, plucking crackers from a center bowl.

“So how are you liking the town so far?” said Ted, taking a sip of his tea. “Trainers seem to either love it or hate it, from what I’ve seen.”

“We like it,” Henry said. “It’s just that the Gym sometimes distracts us and gets us overworked.”

Ted chuckled. “You’re too young to be overworked. I know the League’s tough, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take it easy every so often.”

“That’s not what the Gym leader thinks…” Henry mused, glumly looking down at his plate. “She has this strict schedule that everyone has to follow.”

“Well, then follow her schedule. But don’t think too hard on it. This Gym is just one of many, and you can certainly expect to meet far bigger challenges down the road. Think of it as a test. In fact, that’s all it is.”

Michael sat silent for most of the time, teetering from half-relaxed to alert. He wanted to leave before Ted asked them too much, or before Henry accidentally let something slip, but at the same time he did not want to appear rude. But time eventually proved him wrong—Ted seemed only interested in basic questions pertaining to their League journey, and their opinions on previous battles.

After a while, Michael grew comfortable enough to ask a question that had been tugging at the back of his mind. “So, what do you do besides move tutoring?” he said, looking over to Ted. “Do you run a business or something?”

“No, this is all I do,” Ted replied. “It’s all I want to do, really. Why bother with big money and corporations when you can get by on your own?” He chuckled. “I guess if you’re the ambitious type you’ll want to always go the extra mile, climb the highest mountain. That’s good too. But as I got older I realized that I didn’t fit that sort of lifestyle. It’s something that would have shocked the younger me.”

Michael frowned. Ted, on the whole, didn’t look a day over twenty-five. “What made you want to do move tutoring, then?” he asked.

Ted smiled. “I guess my interest just took hold of me. And when I began to follow it, I saw that it was leading me in the right direction. You’ll understand. Especially when you move on in your education.” At this, Ted looked them both in the eye. “Always keep your education in mind. That’s the most important thing. No matter what path you choose, never stop learning.”

Michael had heard this phrase countless times before, though now, it seemed to take on a higher meaning. More so, it seemed like an invitation to continue talking. He thought for a moment, and the question seemed to spring forth of its own accord.

“… have you ever seen a pokémon differently-colored than normal?” he said.

Ted’s expression clouded. “I might have. What of it?” A second later, he seemed to understand. “Ah. Your Turtwig.”

Michael nodded. “He came like that. When I first got him, I mean. No one could tell me anything about it, but from what I’ve heard, I assume it’s rare or something.”

“It is,” Ted said. “Pokémon are usually very uniform in their coloring, unless the species type varies naturally, like Chatots. I haven’t seen every pokémon in the world—and I’m certain it’s impossible to do in one lifetime—but I have seen ones that defied their species’ natural coloring. I saw a light brown Starly when I lived in Floaroma, and by luck, when I moved here I saw a paler-colored Cherrim. The Starly flew away before I could observe its behavior, but I did get a good look at the Cherrim. On the whole it seemed like a normal Cherrim. It didn’t have any special powers that its normally-colored kin didn’t. I think that the coloring is just a recessive trait, something that might have been present at an earlier time but eventually evolved out of the species.”

At this, a tick went off in Michael’s mind. “So... they could be different?”

Ted shrugged. “Maybe. I guess it’s up to science to find out. Pokémon are very interesting creatures, perhaps even more interesting than us humans. What makes them have such unique, powerful abilities that we don’t? How did they develop? Why is it that by simply repeating a sequence of moves we can get them to command the elements with techniques like Blizzard and Solarbeam? We don’t know… and that’s the beauty of it all.” Ted leaned back in his chair with a smile. “All in all, it’s a field that’s full of surprises. That’s the best way I can put it. Why, just recently, they found that space pokémon… Deoxys, was it?”

“Yep,” Michael said.

“Now that simply astounds me. A pokémon completely alien from Earth, with a body structure completely different from that of any pokémon here. Or maybe it’s similar… whatever it is, I hope that those scientists don’t stop what they’re doing. They could have the answer to everything… right there...” Ted looked up, and his gaze trailed over to the wall behind the boys, lingering somewhere in the empty space. Weak afternoon light filled the kitchen around them, casting a glow on the cupboards and counter, and on the tiny framed pictures that hung on the walls. Seashells. Meadows.

Sitting there in the space that enclosed him, his fingers idly looped through the handle of his teacup, Ted seemed suddenly harmless, almost lonely. He hung in silence for a while, then, as if by accident, he looked down at his watch and gave a jolt. “Whoa. Five o’clock already?” He looked over to the boys. “I guess you two should get going. I can’t keep you here forever.”

Leaving the table as it was, Ted led the boys to the front door, holding it open for them while they gathered their things. As Michael and Henry stepped outside, Ted closed the door a little, poking his head out again. “Remember—practice, and when your pokémon can do the sequence on their own, come back.”

“All right,” Michael replied. He gave Ted a sort of wave, to which he responded with a sheepish thumbs-up, and closed the door.


When the boys got back to the hotel, the sun was beginning to set over the horizon, scattering bands of red and orange light across the sky. Upon nearing the elevators, Michael saw Bertha emerge from a door somewhere in the lobby and enter the hallway. She did not appear to notice either of them. She breezed by at an agitated pace, heels clacking on the carpet. “I’ll Miss Herrida you, you little…”

Before Michael could get her attention, Bertha rounded the corner and disappeared. At the same time, the elevator doors slid open, and he decided that whatever had happened, she would get around to telling them when she was ready. Or perhaps it was better not knowing at all.

When he stepped into their room, Michael was stricken by a sudden lethargy. Their beds were freshly made, and a new sack of pokémon food awaited their attention in the corner. He thought of pouring some out to feed his team now instead of later, but he decided that there were other matters to attend to first. After dropping his backpack by his bed, Michael trudged over to the TV set and flipped it on. The screen came to life in a burst of color and sound.

“—and now coming live from the scene we give you Carlo Tassen, the coach of the winning team—”

Michael turned the dial to change the channel. A football stadium that had just come into view immediately vanished, replaced by a TV show host.

“—next on Prime Time we have an all new episode of The Cool Kids, the last episode till the season finale next week—”

He changed the channel again. A swirl of faces appeared on the screen, a sea of dazzling smiles.

“—wonderful, just wonderful! I never imagined that we would win, but now the Beauty Ribbon seems closer to us than ever!”

Click. Another frame appeared over the preceding one. He had reached Channel 5.

“—and after all the aid and kindness that has been shown to them, I am certain that the people of Eterna will see many brighter days in the future. This has been Mackie Rudolph, live with the evening news.”

The newscaster’s image faded. Michael held his breath. Now, surely, would come the program he had waited weeks to see.

“—and now we bring you the show you’ve all been waiting for… Folks, you can only get it from one place, and that is right here, on Jubilife News 5… get ready…




“JUKEBOX!”


Michael’s head snapped back, and he gawked at screen in surprise. “What the hell?”

Henry came over to his side. “What?”

“They skipped it! The Space Race is supposed to follow the evening news, and Jukebox always comes after!” Michael slapped his hands against his knees. “They completely cut it from the lineup.”

“So, what does that mean?” the boy asked.

Michael turned to him with a scowl. “It means that the Space Race is gone. They’ll probably never update again.” Not bothering to leave the TV on for one more second, Michael pressed the power button and let the screen go blank. “Dammit, I’m such a ditz…” Michael went over to his backpack and began to take out his stuff, plopping it down onto the bed. “Come on,” he said to Henry. “We might as well go over what we’re going to practice after the battles tomorrow.”

Still seated by the TV, Henry nodded. “Yeah. Right.” His eyes lingered on the blank screen for a moment, then slowly, he got up to join Michael.




//////




The streets were wet in Hearthome City. For that entire day, its inhabitants had been visited by chilly winds and spells of misty rain that showered periodically from the skies above. The streets were jammed as always, but what would normally have been a river of striking, moving color was reduced to a dreary mass of tires and horns, the frames of all the cars dulled to the same depressing hue by the weather. Likewise, the pedestrians were bundled up in coats and rain boots, some carrying umbrellas in anticipation.

In a far-flung part of the downtown area, Nancy Bryan sat in a cramped hotel room, her elbows pressed against the surface of a wooden table. She was holding her latest rejection letter from SNN in both hands, and was entirely immersed in reading it. It had arrived by telegram the previous day, but she hadn’t looked at it in detail since she had sent word to Michael.

The curtains were pulled away from the window, letting in what little light the sky had to offer, illuminating the neat, typed lines. Nancy sat with a slight slouch in her shoulders as she read, mouthing the words as she often did when nothing in her mind was making sense.

“News offices… formal declarations… same goddamn thing every time…” After getting through it, she crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a waste bin in the corner. Nancy had so much experience doing this that she no longer missed; the paper ball bounced off the edge and landed inside. She leaned back in her chair, letting out a sigh that she had been holding in for the entire day. “What the hell do these people want, then?”

Her question had been addressed to the ceiling, but nevertheless, Ned took the liberty of answering for her. “Just keep trying,” he said. “The kid wrote a good article, yeah, but I honestly wasn’t surprised that SNN didn’t take it. They’re not the type of people who do academic stories, even if they connect to something else in the world.” He and Bobby were sitting on the couch, watching her read, and going about their own tasks. Bobby was leafing through the TV guide, and Ned was doing a crossword puzzle. Tom, who was reading a book in the separate armchair, also glanced up at his companions.

In response to Ned’s statement, Nancy smiled. “They’re not the type of people who do crime stories, they’re not the type of people who do stories about films, they’re not the people who do stories about pokémon… then what are they?”

“Not people,” Bobby replied curtly.

Nancy began to laugh. But at the same time, her mood remained bleak and overcast, much like the rainy city outside. Taking a breath, Nancy stood up, smoothening her blouse. “Well, we might as well think about what we’ll be having for dinner,” she said. “I’m sick of going out to those streetside cafés and eating God-knows-what every evening. I’m going to buy us some real food.”

“Works for me,” Tom said.

“Go for it,” said Ned. “But hurry back. It looks like it’ll start pouring soon.”

Nodding, Nancy went to grab her purse, pulling her jacket from the coat hanger on her way to the door. She took the elevator downstairs, and upon stepping out of the building, Nancy felt a brief shudder escape her. Tiny, sparse drops were falling on the sidewalk, the promising beginnings of a downpour. The cars were moving slowly, clogging the streets.

Nancy hurried over to the bus stop, shielding her eyes with her hand as she ran. A low, resonating rumble issued from the clouds. Faint, summery music could be heard over the swoosh of shop doors, as people hurried to get home before the rain came.

The benches at the bus stop all had roofs, so naturally, each one was occupied by at least one person. Being in no mood to stand, Nancy took a seat in the first open spot she saw, beside a pair of legs and a head hidden behind a newspaper. She placed her purse in her lap and waited.

Again, thunder rolled across the sky.

The man beside her—so it was a man, after all—turned a page in acknowledgment. Using her peripherals, Nancy did a quick once-over of her temporary companion. He was a fellow like any other, it seemed. Well-dressed, though still somewhat relaxed. Probably a businessman. Satisfied, she went back to looking at the road.

The man cleared his throat, and a gust of wind rattled the pages of the newspaper, making him lower it a little. Nancy looked again. Glasses. Crew-cut. (Why were crew cuts so popular? she wondered. They were so unflattering.) The man began to tap his foot, and Nancy scooted to the side a little, guessing that maybe he wanted more room. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, then he quickly, almost pointedly, looked away. Nancy drew back internally in affront. At least people smiled back in Jubilife. What happened to that friendliness when it crossed the Coronet border?

Nancy put her arm on the cold bar of the bench and fixed her gaze on the buildings across the street. Several nondescript moments later, she heard another crinkle of paper beside her, and this time the man acknowledged her presence with a nod.

“Terrible weather,” he remarked.

Nancy twirled a string on her purse. “Yep.”

The rain intensified for a moment, then quieted down again. Up above, the sky was thick with storm clouds. Suddenly, it struck Nancy that the man was very oddly dressed for such a day. Nearly all the passerby she saw were bundled up for the rain—she herself had worn rubber boots for all the walking she had to do—and yet this guy was sitting there, no umbrella or raincoat, in a suit for crying out loud, like it was nobody’s problem.

The man looked at her again, probably noticing her stare. He folded a corner and closed the newspaper. “It’s a shame what they print these days,” he said.

Nancy bristled. “Oh.”

“Just a bunch of hullabaloo. Or rather, what they don’t print, I should say.”

“… What do you mean?” she ventured.

The man was silent for a moment, his eyes absently scanning the headlines. “I rarely see a paper that prints something worthwhile nowadays, and on the rare chance that I do, it’s ignored in the editorials and is never built upon by anyone else. For example, did you know that moonstones were first discovered on Earth in 1756? That’s ages before Hoenn’s lunar probe was even built.”

“And?” Nancy said, still not following.

“There is an article here that introduces the topic of moonstones rather nicely, but I’m ashamed that it’s the only one of its kind. In the first place, I’m astounded that pokémon evolution would even interest the contemporary news press, since all I see from day to day is the same prattle on politics and conspiracies. But instead of taking a step in the right direction by publishing it in a respectable manner, the newspaper blatantly plays it down as an unimportant issue, both in placing and in format.” The man paused, and flipped through the pages some more. “Of course, I should not be the one to complain. Pokémon evolution is a field that few people care for. The author does a fair job of summarizing the issue, but even so, the introduction is far too late in the coming. The public today shows an ignorance on the matter, and even worse, a matter that concerns them. It’s a sure sign that the media isn’t doing its proper job. Would you agree?” At this point, the man glanced over to Nancy, and his gaze fell on the pocket of her coat. With a tiny jolt, she realized that the press badge was still clipped there, from when she had visited the Hearthome newspaper office earlier that day. She had completely forgotten about it, but now its glaring presence made her feel strangely exposed. Nancy started to reach for it to pull it off, but it was too late. The man already recognized her.

Slouching her shoulders, Nancy leaned back against the bench, folding her arms over her purse. “There’s not much else to print, now, is there?” she said. “The press prints what the people want to read about. And basically, everything’s covered already. We’ve got the Contest season, the Pokémon League, the Space Race…”

At this, the man smiled. “Yes, those are the three biggest things... It’s a shame.”

“Why?”

“People don’t know the truth about them either. And not just about the Space Race—about the League too. I’m not saying that any one person is at fault, but there is no denying that these days, there’s more speculation than certainty.”

Nancy nodded. “Yeah. I can understand.” But what was there to do about it?

“At any rate,” the man continued, “I don’t think there’s any point for the media to be searching for the truth. The truth loves to hide from us, and oftentimes the theories that show up in the news make things seem worse, or better, than they actually are. Take the League for example. It isn’t all fun and games, contrary to what most people believe. No one’s reformed it in ages, and its rules often cause more problems than they solve. In the eyes of the media, however, it can do no wrong. And Team Galactic…”

Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. She was about to turn around and ask the man what he was about to say, but at that moment, he seemed to realize that the conversation had taken a wrong turn. He settled back into silence, letting the former heat of his argument wash away, like the rain.

Finally, Nancy found her voice. “If you don’t think that the media should be searching for the truth… then what should we be doing?”

It was a long time before the man replied. He rolled up the newspaper into a tube and rose from his seat, straightening the edges of his jacket. “Know it when you see it,” he said. “Sometimes it’s right there, out in the open, where you’re least likely to look.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked out at the street. For a moment, his silhouette stood sharply against the bleak backdrop of the city. Then, he stepped away from her and set off down the sidewalk. Nancy watched him go, picking up his pace as he vanished into the flock of moving people, as if he had never been there at all.


All times are GMT -8. The time now is 3:07 AM.


Like our Facebook Page Follow us on Twitter © 2002 - 2018 The PokéCommunity™, pokecommunity.com.
Pokémon characters and images belong to The Pokémon Company International and Nintendo. This website is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Nintendo, Creatures, GAMEFREAK, The Pokémon Company or The Pokémon Company International. We just love Pokémon.
All forum styles, their images (unless noted otherwise) and site designs are © 2002 - 2016 The PokéCommunity / PokéCommunity.com.
PokéCommunity™ is a trademark of The PokéCommunity. All rights reserved. Sponsor advertisements do not imply our endorsement of that product or service. User generated content remains the property of its creator.

Acknowledgements
Use of PokéCommunity Assets
vB Optimise by DragonByte Technologies Ltd © 2023.