S.C.E.N.A.R.I.O.

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(OOC: Hmm... It takes three failures to get kicked out of the program, right? And this would just be one failure? As long as Simon gets to stay in the program, let's make it a failure. As a computer nerd, he should know better than to appeal to human logic when dealing with rigid programs. And having one strike against him will keep him on his toes for the remaining three tests.)
 
Had the circumstances surrounding his family been different at that particular time, Zhan Ze Ken would never have endeavoured to participate in such a ridiculous scheme. The propaganda that enshrouded the nature of S.C.E.N.A.R.I.O was enough alone to render him as a reluctant auditionee for the cause, despite the aspect of his grandmother's dwindling health looming over his shoulder like a ominous thundercloud. This method of obtaining a reasonable sum of money was a lot swifter than entering a tournament, and as the eldest son, Zhan understood that it was his responsibility to help his family acquire the fee to pay for the remedy that was necessary for the elderly woman's recovery. Therefore, as he stood at the starting line of the track, bedecked in a white vest and black gym shorts (garb that he had not been forced to parade since his pre-trainer days at elementary school), he realised that success was paramount. Though some would find it slightly disconcerting in this place, where the bleachers were barren of activity and the entire vicinity devoid of the typical echoes of birdsong, traffic, and other athletes prepping themselves for their own competitions, the male's expression bore no indications of nervousness, mental fragility or anxiety. No butterflies fluttered and jangled within his abdomen, no beads of apprehensive perspiration collected at his brow. Zhan faced the path before him with stoicism, recalling the instructions he had been given.

Two laps, just complete two laps, and then you're quarter of the way there to getting out of this place. He reminded himself, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet, and shaking his arms and legs in order to prep his body for the upcoming sprint. The boy spent some time waiting for a whistle to be blown, but after five minutes had passed, realisation dawned upon him that he was currently the only one present, and he could start whenever he wished. Grinning to himself, he began to run, beginning with a gentle jog and then accelerating around the first bend. Well, this is easy... He thought, injecting further speed into his pace after securing his first lap. No wonder everyone wants to join this thing, if you can get paid for doing a bit of running and what not. It was inevitable that after that thought was conceived, Zhan was bitten by the bug of irony. As if some otherworldly force had perceived that notion and wished to prove the male wrong, the virtual, white clouds suspended within the virtual, blue sky suddenly swelled into a magnitude of grey, smothering the azure heavens with their mass and proceeding to drench the boy and the track in a deluge of a perculiar purple substance. It quickly consumed the entire surface, and reeked of something even more putrid than a swarm of Muk. Zhan slowed to a halt, the phenomenon's stickiness already giving him problems as far as the grip of his shoes was concerned, and momentarily glanced around him to discover that the whole track was now beneath a viscous blanket of slime. This was a mistake, for no sooner than he had looked behind him, then the male found himself travelling backwards- without moving a muscle. It was as if the track had transformed into a conveyor belt- as Zhan tried to lift his legs free from the goo, he was returned to the starting line, which was now phosphorescent. Once deposited onto the radiant purple stripe, the world surrounding him became still, the sky returning to its previous pleasant state as if nothing had occurred. However, the ooze still remained upon the track, gleaming in the sun and almost daring the boy to start running again.

Yeah, Zhan wiped some slime from his cheeks and onto his vest, narrowing his brown eyes and lowering his stance in preparation to run again. I guess it was too good to be true. Taking a deep breath (and regretting it, as the unpleasant aroma emanating from the ground snaked itself about his senses of smell and taste and caused his stomach to heave), he attempted to speed off at the pace prior to the downpour. Yet, the adhesion of the slime caused his movement to be restricted, the treadmill effect whirring into action the moment both feet were away from the luminous starting line.

"Darn," he vocalised his frustration this time, though his tone held no revelations of anger or exasperation as he was carried back to the beginning of his second lap. Of course, there was no way that he was going to permit himself to be beaten by this simple malodourous mass. The track hadn't started moving until after it had appeared, therefore Zhan decided that the purple torrent was the culprit. Instinctively, he reached for his waist, at which usually sat his Poke-ball laden belt, but alas, his typical clothing had been replaced for the horrendous sports attire, the six capsules in the care of his younger brother back home. Had he possessed his usual inventory and team, the male would have summoned a Water Pokemon to clean the track with a move pertaining to that type, relieving him of both the slime and the stench. The latter was disagreeing with his stomach, Zhan becoming aware of the possibility of being reacquainted with the bowl of rice he had consumed earlier that day. Once again, he made and effort to cover some distance, only to be delivered back to his starting point after fifteen metres. Not allowing himself to be defeated, he retaliated instantly, managing only ten metres of running before he was outsped by the track. By this time, his muscles were beginning to fill with lactic acid and aching somewhat, his intake of oxygen constricted by his repulsion to the air, which was now completely saturated with the essence of the sticky slime. Zhan was back at the line, slightly hunched as he tried to replenish the wasted energy. With every step that he took, his feet were glued to the purple substance, and expended valuable time as he attempted to lift them out. Perhaps if he tried a different method?

Grimacing, he got down on all fours, stomach churning with disgust as his arms and legs were swallowed up by the ooze. He had been reminded of a story that had been read to him during his time in elementary school, where characters searched for an Ursaring and were met by several obstacles along the way. If they couldn't get over them, or under them, or around them, they went through them- this was what Zhan believed would work, crawling through the disgusting substance. He had been able to wipe it from his cheek relatively effortlessly, therefore he deduced that skin had more resistance to this stuff than whatever material his shoes were fabricated from. Sluggishly, he began to crawl away from the starting line, the track already performing its favourite trick.

Just pretend that it's honey, Ze Ken... Really... Revolting... Honey... He retched as he moved, yet was seperating himself from the beginning of the lap with more efficiency than prior attempts. Though he was faring well using this tactic, his body was becoming fatigued; despite moving faster, it still took a lot of effort for the male to resist the conveyor belt's activity and complete his lap. That was all he'd needed to do- beat the course twice and then he'd be onto the second task- how simple it had seemed at the start. Yet he would not allow to be bested by the first task, nor would he disappoint his family. Exchanging his internal cries of pain for thoughts of their faces, he continued to wade along the treadmill on his hands and knees, ensuring that he did not lose contact with the sludge, and continued to slowly cut through it, like an old, blunt knife. It seeped up his shorts, into his socks, and down his vest- there better be a shower after this test, when he completed it. Then, there was the nausea bubbling within his stomach and stinging his oesophagus with every ragged breath he took. No, think of your family, he strived to ignore the many negative factors surrounding him, but as he (obliviously) reached the final bend, they all bombarded him at once.

He tried to suppress the retching which was succeeded by the return of that morning's rice, but his efforts were to no avail. Vomitting hindered his progress, the boy being transported several metres backwards in the time it took to recover. Shakily, he continued onwards, in the only direction that would lead to his salvation from this dire situation. The money better be worth it...

((I shall continue soon, I'm all Zhan'd out right now. Dx))
 
Alexander blinked and found himself standing on hard tar and still wearing his own clothes - casual jeans, a light jacket, and running shoes. There was a faint ringing in his ears. He was also, literally, in the dark.

The dark felt spacious and benign. It breathed. There was a light breeze and a dormant summer warmth that seemed to rise from the racetrack he was on. Nevertheless, it was pitch dark, the dark of moonless nights that city dwellers never experience. Alexander was a city dweller. Looking up, he saw only a scattering of stars, very distant and very, very faint. There was no moon to guide him, no streetlights to illuminate the track.

More than irritated, Alexander was disappointed. He had been quite keen on exploring virtual reality to discover its functioning and limitations. Did the world have a physical limit? If so, what did it look like? A white wall? Or would he find himself caught in a loop of indentical trees, unable to move past the area defined important by the plot? It looked as though, this time, he wouldn't have a chance to do more than run his two laps.

But how was he supposed to run those two laps? It was crazy: he couldn't see past his nose, much less find the curve of the race track. However, as Alexander's eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed a faint glow around him. It was an eerie green, the colour of glow-in-the-dark watches, casting little light to the surroundings but a stable anchor in the all-encompassing darkness. It emanated from two rows of small, round lights that, like runway lights, ran to his left and right where he assumed the sides of the track were.

A very helpful detail, he thought, and felt grateful for the world's designer. With lights marking the edges of the racetrack, he could run two laps in a more-or-less normal manner, aside from the infernal fear that he was blind and about to run into a brick wall.

Alexander took a few steps forward to get a better look at one of the lights. To his surprise (but could anything be really surprising in a virtual world?) it was actually a pair of lights, and not flat but convex. As he came closer the light source became more rounded. He thought it might be a pair of stones, then a pair of mushrooms. Other features of it became visible: the glowing protrusions were only part of the overall shape. He crouched beside it and picked it up with both hands. The creature's claws scrabbled at his palms.

"It's a Paras," he laughed. For some odd reason, the mushrooms on its back were glowing. Otherwise, it was your average run-of-the-mill Paras. The lines of lights around him probably consisted of the same Pokemon. They were all dormant, sleeping, fufilling their role of boundary markers.

The Paras he was holding made a curious electronic noise as though in protest. It had, after all, been rudely awakened. Squirming and clicking its pincers, it slipped out of Alexander's hands and landed on its back, burbling loudly as it tried to right itself.

Alarmed at movement at the corners of his vision, Alexander stood up. Around him, the two orderly lines of lights (he could see them perfectly, now) were slowly rippling, spreading out, breaking up. It was as though a fluorescent tide were retreating. The Paras had been awakened. They had better things to do than sit in neat rows. In fact, they were positively fleeing.

Alexander took an uncertain step forward. The lights jerked backward.

{Will finish tomorrow. I hope the length is okay.}
 
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He soldiered on determinedly, though the physical demand of outpacing the track now imminently threatened to eclipse Zhan's opportunities of accomplishing the feat, completing the task that had transcended all level of arduousness that he could have possibly expected in the beginning. Every single movement made by the male was sluggish and laboured, as his muscles were set ablaze with exhaustion and fatigue. He was further hindered by the mass of purple sludge that had clung to his clothes, arms, hands, feet and legs; Zhan had no time to wipe it away- mistakenly, he had earlier rubbed his eyes with his right palm, smearing the putrid globules across his field of vision and temporarly rendering himself blind. Whatever compounds formed the goo, they had reacted badly with the aqueous humour, causing a sharp stinging sensation that had made him want to claw his eyes out.

His mindest was still focused upon his lingering nausea as he meandered around the final bend (for the second time) at a pace slower than that of a snail, Zhan could barely make out the glowing purple line which would terminate his struggle. The final stretch of the ordeal was unbearable, with every second masquerading as an hour thanks to the lack of energy circulating within his body combined with the mental tricks his wearied mind was playing on him; revenge for being stubbornly true to his family's philosophies.

Five minutes later, a purple, putrid, pooped Zhan collapsed onto a bed of neon purple ooze, and the male was finally released.

((Sorry for the length of this follow-up, but that's all there is to crawling through sludge, I think. XD))
 
He cursed under his breath. The darkness before him was now filled with a multitude of pale green lights, each moving in an apparently random direction at a random speed. But how to tell where the track was? He looked down, searching for the painted lines. His feet were invisible to him. It was like being locked in a closet. Thank goodness for the breeze, or he might have been overcome with claustrophobic panic.

Desperate, Alexander started searching through his pockets. Maybe he had been gven some helpful item. A flashlight would be very, very useful right about now. But that was probably too much to ask for. Even a penlight would do.

Alexander's fingers closed around something flat and smooth and with mounting excitement he pulled it out of his jacket. It was no miracle. It was his Samsung phone. He flipped it open. Warm white light flooded the world, illuminating the tips of his runners and bringing the red tar of the track into sharp relief.

The rest was fairly simple in execution. It took him a few seconds to adjust the phone's brightness and backlight time to the maximum. Bent over, the makeshift lantern in hand and aimed at the ground, hopping and jumping over clumps of Paras, he 'ran' his two laps. Ruefully, Alexander thought of how long it usually took him to run thid distance. He knew how long this trial was taking him: the phone's backlight shut off every 10 minutes, and he had to close and open it twice. Reaching the finish line for the second time, he was able to straighten out with a groan, feeling the ache in his back, and find himself transported out of the virtual world.
 
Okay, time for the new scenario. You all did quite satisfactory jobs on writing them (Although the guy running it is slightly disappointed in Simon, but that'll pass.)

This time you are all in the same place, at the same time, and must work together.

You are in a room, a very damp, musty, old room. You can hear some liquid you hope is water dripping from somewhere, but there is no light in the room. As you feel the walls you realize they are made of bricks, which are covered in moss.

You can tell there are others in the room, how many there are, you don't know, but you hear one say "Newcomers eh? Finally some company for little ol' Scruffy!" Which is followed by hysterical laughter. As you all look for the source, the full moon rises suspiciously quickly, illuminating the room, showing a pipe in the ceiling, which is the source of the laughter.

Mission: Make your way out of the place (Which is a castle, lost in time. Approx. 300 years old and still in somewhat good condition) you are in, and do something about the Scruffy person who seems to be holding you prisoner.

This mission you are given one pokemon each, WITH a pokeball.

Me: Rattata
Rabbit: Zigzagoon
. K i a r r a *: Sentret
Ckret2: Bidoof
 
Steampunk. That's what this place reminded Simon of. He didn't read a lot of steampunk fiction (he didn't read a lot, period), but enough to recognize the style: a mix of sorta-ancient architecture with technology that shouldn't exist back then.

Ignoring the creepy voice from the pipe for the moment as he tried to get his bearings, Simon craned his neck up as he looked around the huge room, lit by a moon shining through a tall window of broken glass. This might have been a throne room once, but there was no throne. There were two huge doors, nailed and boarded shut with nails like railroad ties and boards like half a tree trunk.

What made it weird was the many thick iron pipes writhing all over the mossy brick walls, like a herd of migrating Steelix. (Simon wondered if Steelix migrated. And how many creepy voices these pipes contained.) They were rusted at the joints but still looked fairly functional. Several smallish pipes branched off from the main one, met at the center and twisted together, and connected to a chandelier dangling down. Simon looked around the room until he found a pipe that went all the way to the floor and connected to what looked like an immense metal button on the ground.

Stepping on it would be stupid, he knew. But he'd already gotten in trouble for not playing the game right in his first test, so if this was going to be an idiot plot, he would gladly be the idiot if that got him full credit. A random button in a situation like this was always made to be pushed. "Hey, I'm gonna check that out," he said, pointing vaguely towards the button. Maybe it would open one of the doors out--but, the way his luck had been running recently, it would probably release Giratina instead. Nevertheless, he walked over and stepped on the button.

The chandelier lit up with a hundred gas-fueld tiny lamps, briefly illuminating the entire room. A light switch. How nice. Something on the damp walls squirmed irritably--whatever it was, it was MUCH more sinuous than Steelix. Before he could get a good look, the chandelier light flared brighter, and suddenly exploded in a fireball. Simon dove to the floor and covered his head as the remains of the chandelier crashed to the ground.

Right. No more stepping on random buttons. Something in the pipe closes to pipe next to Simon's head laughed wheezingly, and said, "Now, you want to make this job easy for ol' Scruffy, do you, boy?"

"Shut up," Simon muttered. Whatever Scruffy was, the fact that it hadn't done anything to them yet meant it probably wouldn't until nearly the end of their test.

He slowly stood up and surveyed the damage. A few of the flames on the chandelier were still burning weakly, but the lower ones had already been doused by some puddles on the ground. Trying to peer around the side of the chandelier, he shouted, "Sorry, guys! My bad! Is everyone okay?"
 
Thankfully, Zhan had been permitted to take a brief reprieve after completing his assigned task, which allowed him to rid himself of the foul substance and also recover much of his expended energy. However, it had soon been time for the male to embark on the second of the four challenges, and he had gone without a fuss into the next virtual environment.

Darkness and the stench of stagnance lingering within the air, a combination that rendered the boy somewhat perplexed as to where he had been transported at first. However, his eyes soon adapted to the lack of light, and he was capable of deciphering shapes and distinguishing movement within the poorly illuminated chamber.

"Newcomers eh? Finally some company for little ol' Scruffy!" A stream of insane laughter succeeded the voice which reminded Zhan of a terrible, low budget horror movie, for some reason. Folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the wall (which he regretted upon meeting with something cold, damp and spongy), he discovered that the moon had risen, and was providing the room with a source of light. The presence of others was not too surprising, but Zhan made no endeavours to introduce himself to who he assumed were the other participants; one was already busying themself with what appeared to be an attempt to escape. His instructions had not mentioned that this was a race, therefore he was content with casually standing several inches away from the wall, awaiting the person to indicate whether he or she had been successful.

Suddenly, the chandelier was sent plummetting to the floor, not after it had emitted a spectacular display of what Zhan would have believed were pyrotechnics had an ember not landed upon his foot and proceeded to burn his shoe. Stomping on it with his other foot to extinguish the flame, he brushed his hair away from his face and gazed rather lackadaisically in Simon's direction.

"I'm fine," he nodded, inhaling the aroma that typically followed the combustion of rubber. "My left foot is slightly warmer than the rest of me is, but hey, that's what I get for not wearing a jacket."
 
"Did I have to drink all that soda before the test? My stomach feels like a-"

"Sorry, guys! My bad! Is everyone okay?" Someone else said, who he quickly identified as the boy named Simon.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wondering when the Phantom of the Opera will show up." Ryley said, not that he thought anyone was listening.

Aside from the now shattered chandelier, the room looked like a classic castle. Mossy walls, musty air, and the overall creepiness level was through the roof. Not to mention the mass of pipes along the walls and ceiling.

"Brass." Ryley thought, observing the pipes trails. "Plain bricks, moss everywhere, but that's beside the point. All I have to do is get out of here!"

That's when Ryley's hand fell to his side, only to hit a small, round, metallic object he thought seemed oddly familiar, but annoyingly foreign. He grabbed it, hoping it might help him.

It was a small, red and white ball, about the size of a gumball from a childs vending machine.

"A pokeball," He muttered, pushing the button to enlarge it. Once it was full sized he pressed the button again, releasing the pokemon inside.

But he did not expect the pokemon he got.

It was a small, four-legged thing, with a blue back and white belly, and a tail that curved into a swirl. It had two long teeth sticking out of its mouth, and it looked ready to attack at any moment.

"What is that?" He said aloud. Ryley hadn't spent much time around pokemon foreign to Sinnoh.
 
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Once again, Alexander found himself in darkness. Again, he was very disappointed. Fortunately, the darkness wasn't absolute. A small slit up above his head let in a pallid, hesitant light. There was no breeze. Somewhere, water was dripping. He shivered: it was cold as a grave.

"Newcomers eh? Finally some company for little ol' Scruffy! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-"

Startled, Alexander jerked and leapt to the side, away from the voice. He hit a wall. Ouch. "Gah," he commented weakly as he reached a hand up the wall. It was disgustingly slimy, but beyond the growth he thought he could feel bricks. So where was he? It was beginning to feel like a medieval dungeon, or a madman's idea of one. Alexander didn't know much about medieval dungeons, except that they were bad news. But this was all virtual, right?

He wiped his hand on his jeans and took stock of himself. He had his regular clothes on: nothing was missing. At once, he stuck a hand in his jacket pocket for the cellphone that had rescued him last time. Instead of something smooth and rectangular, his fingers pulled out a ping-pong sized ball. There was a button on the side. Evidently a Pokeball. He gripped it tightly - it was like a lottery ticket, he wouldn't know if he had won or not until he opened it up.

Calmer now, he became aware of three figures in the grey light. They looked rather familiar. Alexander took a step forward to join the group when the lights came on for a brief moment - just a moment, until something exploded and crashed to the ground. There was the sound of glass shattering.

"Now, you want to make this job easy for ol' Scruffy, do you, boy?"

He had almost been expecting that. Apparently the voice was coming from a pipe in the ceiling, now visible in the grey light. Looking up warily to avoid other 'shooting stars', he crossed the distance and joined the three others, now recognizing them as the other SCENARIO volunteers.

"Sorry, guys! My bad! Is everyone okay?"

"Well, looks like you got something to happen," Alexander commented. "What did you do, press a secret switch?"

Ryley's question made him turn. He looked at the Pokemon and whistled. "Looks like you got a Ratatta." He laughed. "They're cute, aren't they?"
 
Sure that everyone had survived the accident, Simon headed over to the other three. "Yeah, secret switch, something like that," Simon said. "There's this button on the floor, over there. It turns on the light but I guess it messed up. Probably all the buttons are programmed to backfire like that." He didn't know that for sure, but saying it made him sound like he knew what he was talking about.

As he approached, a short purple Pokémon snarled at him. He flinched and drew back. What was that thing?

"Looks like you got a Rattata," Alexander said, and laughed. "They're cute, aren't they?"

With fangs like that? "Cute" was hardly the word Simon would use for them. "A Rattata, huh?" he said, edging behind the Rattata's new trainer to observe it from a distance. It looked sorta familiar, but he didn't know anything about Rattata; he didn't spend a lot of time studying up on Pokémon, Sinnoh-native or otherwise. "I think my brother might have one. They're Poison-types, aren't they?"

As he spoke, he instinctively felt for the Poké Ball belt that Galactic Grunts kept concealed under their vests, to see what Pokémon he had; he realized for the first time that he had been changed into his old uniform. He wondered, paranoid, if the guy running S.C.E.N.A.R.I.O. had found out about his ex-criminal allegiances, or if the program had just read the participants' minds and generated them in whatever outfits they felt most comfortable.

He didn't get much of a chance to wonder, because he had his belt but soon discovered it was empty. "Hey!" He felt his belt, his pockets, the rest of his clothes. "I'm supposed to have a Pokémon, right? Where's my--" He felt his ankle. "Oh. Ha, ha."

A thin metal ring was looped around his ankle, with about a foot of fine chain trailing to a normal-sized Poké Ball. "Very funny," he grumbled, kicking his foot and watching the ball jerk. At least it didn't weigh a ton.

He crouched down and grabbed it, then paused. He'd barely gotten away from Dialga and Palkia in his last test, and there wasn't a way out of this room. "It's probably Giratina or something," he mumbled, and stood up, leaving his Pokémon alone in its Poké Ball.
 
((I apologise for my lack of posting. x_x; For one, I didn't realise there were new messages, and secondly, I haven't really been in a Zhan mood... He differs a lot from my other active character, and because a lot's been happening in her RP, I've been in a bit of a rut... Finally, I'm sorta kinda sick- this is a pre-apology for the sucky post that's about to follow. XD))

More voices, confirming Zhan's suspicions of there being more than one person accompanying him within this abismal-seeming place. All the other participants, he learned, were male. He hadn't actually paid attention to his upon arriving to the S.C.E.N.A.R.I.O headquarters- nothing hardly ever phased the boy, who was now casually standing beside the wall, hands inside his pockets, brown eyes fixated upon the wall opposite him- not that he could see properly in the poorly lit chamber. The Asian remained silent, exhibiting no blatant desires to interfere with the interaction between the other volunteers, nor to actually join in the conversation. However, he was aware of the fact that the others possessed of Pokemon that weren't their own; a simple deduction from the way that one of them (he couldn't be sure of the male's identity for the aforementioned reasons) reacted to the appearance of what Zhan could identify as a Rattatta.

He also figured that if this guy had a Pokemon, so did he, though there wasn't any hurry for him to release it. No danger looming over the group, unless you counted the chandelier- which techinally was no longer looming... Technicalities aside, Zhan's logic informed him that it would be best to save it for later, lest 'Old Scruffy' be lurking within the shadows and happen to gobble the creature up. Whatever Old Scruffy was. Fingers brushed over the small capsule which had been buried deep within his pockets, and he nodded in confirmation that he had received a Pokemon.

It was Simon's remark about the typing of the purple rodent that stood within the group of humans that finally caused Zhan's silence to shatter.

"Actually, they're Normal types," he shrugged, once again toying with his hair. "Pretty common in Kanto, Johto too... Especially when you drop a lot of food on the ground... Mmm..."

And he sent himself catapulting (lackadaisically, of course) back into his own little realm.

That was it; Zhan's short statement.
 
"A Rattata?" Ryley said, kneeling down to examine to pokemon further. "It is kinda cute."

He hesitantly extended his hand to pet the small pokemon, only to receive a hostile hiss.

"Okay, so he isn't a friendly pokemon." Ryley observed, standing up. "Back in the pokeball you go."

After the quick flash of red light dissipated he thought "Looks like I won't be able to help much. Figures I get the disobedient pokemon."

He looked around at the others, hoping he would be able to coast along on their actions. There was one nearby who looked like he was off in his own world, another who seemed to be examining the room like he had, and finally one behind who was just standing up from apparently examining his ankle.

Ryley quickly identified the one behind him as the kid named Simon. But his outfit seemed oddly familiar, yet sinister, especially his blue vest. But then it struck him.

"Your from Team Galactic!" He shouted, his eyes widening with realization. He quickly turned around and swung a punch at the kid.
 
"You're from Team Galactic!" At the sound of his team's name, Simon looked up from his ankle, just in time to see a fist flying towards his face.

"Hey, wha--?!"

The fist met Simon's left eye, and he fell flat on his back. He scrambled backward a few feet, and then pushed himself upright, shielding his face from further damage. "I'm not-- this isn't-- I wasn't--" Perhaps putting him in his Team Galactic uniform had been an intentional act of malice by the guys running this.

"I'm an ex-Grunt!" he said, and ran behind the spaced-out guy who had said Rattata were Normal-types. Maybe Simon could use him as a shield. "And I was barely even that! The biggest mission I ever got was taking a check to the Veilstone Post Office to mail to Jubilife for our TV commercials. Really!"

The kid with the Rattata still looked like he didn't buy it (but then again, Simon's vision was kinda bleary right now), so Simon reached down, pushed the button on his Poké Ball, and crossed his fingers as a Pokémon came out. "Go, Girati-- oh..."

A Bidoof appeared, waddled around to face Simon, and smiled dopily. He stared at the Pokémon, then peeked around the side of the spaced-out guy to look at the kid with that vicious Rattata. "I forfeit?" he offered weakly.
 
"I'm an ex-Grunt!" Ryley heard the kid say "And I was barely even that! The biggest mission I ever got was taking a check to the Veilstone Post Office to mail to Jubilife for our TV commercials. Really!"

"Yeah right," Ryley thought, "How do I know he didn't steal pokemon from small children?"

"Go, Girati-- oh..." The blue haired kid nervously said. He looked crestfallen at the revealing of his pokemon.

"Did he actually expect Giratina?" Ryley thought, looking at Simon's dopey Bidoof.

"I forfeit?" The kid offered weakly.

"You forfeit?" Ryley questioned, "Do you really think I'd let you go just like that?" He stepped back slightly and was about to release his Rattata again when he felt the tile his foot was on sink slightly. As dozens of Seedot flooded out of newly opened chutes in the walls behind him Ryley turned to them and muttered "Uh-oh."

OOC:
Two things you should know.
1: You can choose the gender of your pokemon.
2: Your pokemon can know any moves they would naturally learn by level 15.
 
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