TEAM ROCKET RULEZ
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Rated PG-15; mild language.
"This is my life, as a criminal. A criminal who can't leave. Doomed to the day until he turns of age, but by then I would be using a cane to walk and dentures to speak. I might as well be dead."
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You want a story about Team Rocket? Well, you got it! It may not be what you had expected, though. There is a twist. What if you were told a story about this notorious organization through the eyes of a cynicistic grunt? Look at Team Rocket in a new way that the games, animé and mangas never shown you before!
What would happen if you were to meet a Rocket who doesn't believe in evil?
He is confined to the torture and torment of having a false name glued to his forehead.
He hates what he does but he has no other choice.
He is a Rocket, but he doesn't act like one.
Well ... get ready to meet him.
» LuciRuki Presents: My Life As A Rocket «
The prologue is there to set your mind to what kind of story you are getting into. It does not reflect the way I write using description. I written the prologue with hardly any description, literary techniques or any devices whatsoever. It is meant to be written the way it is. Bland, and vague. I would also like to mention about my grammar. I know it needs work. I try really hard, but speaking 4 different languages, it does get tough. If you would like to critique some sections, please do. =]
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Prologue
You might wonder how a person becomes an unlucky Rocket. Well, I know. You see, it wasn't my choice to become a Rocket. My family has been loyal grunts to the organization for almost twenty years. Every year, we would go to the stupid Christmas parties where Giovanni (our leader) himself would say the same lame toast. He would stand at the end of the long laminate table and raise his wine glass.
"To another year of torment," he would yell. Then almost naturally, he would look at me. He doesn't like me, and he knows that I don't like him. That is why I never talk to him. My mother always yelled at me for never taking a liking to our boss. She would go on for hours on how his family helped ours. I mean if it was up to my mother, she would find a way to take a simple old rock and make it a frickin' face of the old man. I'm sure she would sit and carve the rock until she is satisfied on the outcome. I feel for her, I truly do. But, we both have our opinions. For her, everything is about Giovanni. I am sick and tired of this. My whole life has been a waste. It has been devoted to a notorious criminal organization for the capture of pokemon. I mean, comon' get a real job. I'm sure they need fast food employees somewhere.
So, now you are probably also wondering why I haven't quit Team Rocket. Well, the answer is... I can't, unless I want to be killed. It's kind of like working in the office; punch in, punch out. Role call every morning. God forbid you're sick one day, because then they will come to your door to see what the hell is wrong. If you aren't vomiting like thirty miles - per - hour, you're fine. Giovanni likes it when all his employees are hard at work. If you try and escape, they will track you down and beat you senseless. That is what I was born to. A life of misery, hate, and crime. I sweat, I bleed and all I get is a measly thirty dollars a day. Yes, thirty. Uh huh. Exactly. That's their standard rate for grunts. I get all holidays off and every other weekend. You want to hear the funny part? I just started getting paid last year.
Sometimes I wish that I could be a priveledged grunt. You know, the ones that get to work at their own pace, steal what they want, hardly ever having to report to the boss and ride around a hot air balloon all day. I mean they get to travel the world if they want. And me, I live at headquarters just like everyone else. Headquarters is more or less like a huge steel building, housing hundreds of Rockets. Each family gets their own room, that is square in shape. Cramped, and cold the rooms have 3 beds, a small kitchen, one washroom and a television. Wake up calls are at 6AM for the Rockets on duty, and our curfews are at 10 PM. It's like a prison. Except we don't get raped. Wait - Scratch that. If you're male, you don't get raped. Uhh. Scratch that again. Mmh, nevermind. It is a prison.
All around the headquarters you see innocent pokemon caged up in cramped quarters. Many hardly have any food, and sometimes if you're unlucky, you see the dead pokemon just lying in their cage. Their lives taken away from them for profit. It sickens me.
The one good thing though about headquarters is the fact that I don't have to live with Giovanni or see his disgraceful face. The big rotten, mouldy, smelly cheese lives on his own, with his retard of a pokemon, Persian. Instead, we have a head Rocket, Henrietta, and oh boy is she nice. She loves to talk and have a good time, I'll tell you. She is probably the only Rocket that I can talk to (besides my mother). She believes in all aspects of anti-cruelty to pokemon, but like me she is doomed to stay with Team Rocket until she hits the blast off age. What is the blast off age, you ask? It's a day better than Christmas. The blast off age is the day when you are allowed to leave Team Rocket. Everyday I mark a huge "X" on my calendar, counting down the days until I can leave. Only thirty-eight years, one hundred and twelve more days. Joy. I'll probably die here. Maybe I'll fake my own death, and be carried out by a coffin. Perfect. Anywhere is better than here.
I'm Luther, and this is my life as a Rocket.
End of Prologue
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Comments always welcome. Thank you.