Howdy fine readers and I humbly welcome you to my Pokemon fic. To make a long story short, this is what I guess you can call an "interesting" spin on the classic story known to us all of the original Pokemon games Red and Blue. (or Green, depending on who you ask)
Although it may not be apparent from the first chapter, this will truly differentiate from the classic pokémon game formula especially later on. I don't want to spoil too much now and instead I'll leave it up to the story itself which I hope to update in a somewhat regular fashion. Yeeaah, we'll see how long that lasts. Anyway, on with the show. And, naturally please feel free to share your opinions, thoughts and ideas for the fic. In fact, I'm practically begging you to. After all, pride means so little when you're starting off a new story. So yeah, fire all constructive critisim at me. I encourage you to do your worst.
Table of Contents:
Part One: Ignition
Chapter One: Encounters
Chapter One: Encounters
The storm showed no sign of waning.
The downpour was vicious, slashing against the roofs and windows of Pallet Town’s buildings. It was as if a party of gyarados had assembled with the sole purpose of washing away the innocent small town with a merciless rain dance. Despite the midday timing, the obstructing layer of jet black clouds gave a false sense of night fall. Unprecedented gale force winds swept through the town like a set of aeroblasts, throwing leaves and debris alike into the air.
The Kanto region was currently under attack from its worst storm in decades.
Preferring the comfort and safety of their homes over the treacherousness exposed to them outside, the town’s residents had hurried into their respective houses. All but one.
The prepubescent boy - around ten years of age - walked with his capped head bowed, his pace quick and purposeful. He was unequipped for the weather , the flimsy raincoat doing little to protect him from the relentless downpour. His trainers splashed through each and every puddle that stood in his way but if he cared he didn’t show it. He just kept walking with quick, hurried little steps.
Hanging from his shoulder was a battered child’s rucksack, almost empty, bar a handful of necessities that had been quickly gathered mere minutes ago. A change of clothes, a few snacks, some crumbled notes and an assortment of varied coins. In reality it wasn’t much at all but to the boy, it was enough - adequate, plenty. It would have to be enough.
No one seemed to notice him. Of course, no one else was outside, but even a quick glance through some of the rain soaked windows of the houses told the boy that no one cared. There were no puzzled faces begging unanswered questions, no strange looks from people wondering why on earth a ten year old boy was walking alone in the pouring rain. No one gave a damn. And that was good.
After a few minutes the boy turned round and took one last look at the town he was leaving behind. He had grown up here and in reality he knew little else. This was his home, he knew the people who occupied the town, he knew their life, their relationship status, their goals and ambitions. In a way that was part of his problem. Pallet Town was too small. People knew more about you than even you do. There was no privacy or life behind closed doors. You were out in the open, completely naked and vulnerable. You could be accepted, you could be hated. And people could pick apart your life and business as they saw fit.
And yet.. he had friends here. Good friends. Friends for life-
The boy shook his head determinedly. His clothes were sticking to his skin, his body both hot and cold at the same time. Quickly he fixed the placement of his white and red baseball cap which was barely remaining on his head. He brushed the rain-soaked black hair from his eyes and took a final look at Pallet Town. He had already made up his mind long ago – determination was clear in his intelligent brown eyes. He was leaving the claustrophobic town he had grown up in. He had had enough.
Then, he was running. He ran against the force of the wind blowing against his face, he ran despite the drenching rain that chilled his body and obscured his vision. But most of all he ran in vain of the ever growing sliver of doubt that had uprooted in his heart. The same sliver of doubt that had stopped all his previous attempts of leaving, of escape.
He tried to burn it out, attempted to pretend like it didn’t exist - put it out of his head. He failed. And yet the boy continued to run.
And then the boy tripped, flailed his arms wildly, screamed out into the empty space and fell to the ground.
He was crying now, sobbing and moaning, holding his knee in pain. His fall had ripped the right trouser leg and he could feel the warmth and texture of fresh blood against his hand. Without knowing it, he’d actually been crying for a while, ever sense he’d paid attention to that dammed sliver of doubt that refused to stop haunting him.
Slowly, the boy got shakily to his feet and cautiously tried to walk. He yelped again at sharp pain and once again clutched the cut with hands scratched and dirty from the fall. Apparently the stony ground had cut through his skin like paper.
For a while the boy just stood there, sniffing and crying in the rain. In the distance he heard a defining roar of thunder, booming and close; It was almost as if the fabled Zapdos and Raikou were currently in an all out fight to the death with each other. And yet the boy paid it no heed. He was too busy being consumed by his own frustration and self pity. He could never seem to do anything right. Why was he so pathetic?!
Then he heard another sound, this one nothing like the previous roar of thunder. Instead, it was a gentle rustling noise. And it was from nearby.
The boy wiped his nose and looked up and could see the expanse of Route One in front of him. It seemed pleasant enough, with a few raised hills and bumps, littered with trees and peppered with spots of tall grass.
He realised that’s where the sound was coming from – a patch of long grass. There was one close to his right, only a few metres away. And, true enough, the soaked grass was rustling vigorously. It wasn’t the same tearing movement caused by the wind; there was something alive and moving among the blades.
In spite of the situation the boy seemed transfixed, curious even. He took a step forward. The grass continued rustling. And then a yellow head poked through the blades.
Alarmed, the boy took a step back. With frightened eyes he stared at the creature - analysed it.
Of course, it was a pokémon. But he had never seen it before. As far as he could tell, whatever it was, it wasn’t native around Pallet Town. It was a chubby thing, with large cheeks topped with deep red circles. Its black tipped ears were raised attentively and it was looking at him with weary, pain filled eyes. As it began to plod forward on its four legs it was only then the boy noticed the tail. It was angular and long, longer even than the body it belonged to. Almost immediately the boy realised it was in the shape of what seemed to be a lightning bolt.
The pokémon stumbled and squeaked a little before sitting back on its hind legs and gave the boy a long hard stare. He gasped. Along its stomach was a sickening cut, long and wet like an evil, red grin. The short fur around the wound was matted with blood.
Instinctively and not with much thought put behind it, the boy hunched down in front of the pokémon. He no longer cared about the pain in his knee or the task at hand. Suddenly it was all irrelevant. It was only now he was aware that there was a strange noise coming from around the creature; like the gentle hum of an electric wire fence.
Tentatively he reached out a friendly hand, testing the water. The pokémon didn’t flinch. It just continued staring with large, innocent black eyes. Gently he scratched the creature behind the ear.
No words were spoken, it didn’t seem necessary. However he was beginning to realise that assistance for the pokémon would need to be sought.
It was then that everything changed. The sound of the wind and rain seemed to freeze and stop and all he could hear was a mind numbing silence. He was also aware of something else now, a presence, human and urgent from behind him.
“Hey! Wait! Don’t go out!” The voice sounded distorted, as if it wasn’t quite right. And yet it was also slightly familiar.
The boy turned round to see the speaker. There was no one.
Pallet Town seemed to be shimmering, the trees and buildings almost swaying in the deafening silence. The boy rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
The he saw a figure, cloaked in black. The boy froze. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe. The figure began to approach, slowly and confidently. There was something about the way it moved that almost seemed somewhat delicate.
His brain was roaring at him now, begging him to move, to get as far away from the figure as was humanly possible. Whatever or whoever it was, they were dangerous. That much he knew. It was instinct.
But he couldn’t move at all. He could do nothing but stare as the figure continued to come closer and defining features came into view.
It was wearing a black coat, heavy and protective. It completely covered the rest of the body. The head was topped with a black fedora hat, the shadows it cast masking the face of the figure.
The boy could practically hear each footstep the figure made as it progressed. He couldn’t pull his eyes away. He was frozen, numb with fear.
Suddenly the figure stopped, mere metres away from where the boy was hunched on the ground, terrified into silence.
The figure raised its head. The masking shadows began to retract. Once again the boy gasped.
He could make out an eye now, except it wasn’t really an eye at all. True, it was in the shape of an eye and it was in the same position as an eye but this wasn’t normal. It was a bright purple colour, shining in the dullness of the storm. The glow cut through everything else. It was all the boy could see, all he could look at. And it sent shivers down his spine. Although it was truly impossible to tell, he was fully aware the eye was staring right at him. Searching his soul. Tearing him apart.
The figure reached out a gloved hand.
“It’s unsafe out there! You need your own pokémon for protection.”
It was the same voice as before and it was just as distortedly familiar. But it was then the boy realised the voice didn’t belong to the figure at all. It didn’t seem to come from anywhere.
The hand was extending now, reaching towards him, grabbing at him. The boy opened his mouth to scream. There was a yellow flash. He heard a horrible, bone chilling scream and everything faded into nothing.
Red Satoshi sat up in his bed, panting and naked. His body was drenched in a cold sweat, the bed sheets stuck to him like glue. In the bleak darkness of his room he reminded himself about certain facts he knew to be true: there was no storm. There was no coated figure reaching towards him. And there definitely was no distorted voice either.
There was just Red Satoshi, a teenager who had just had the exact same recurring dream for third time that week. There was just Red Satoshi running a hand through his jet black hair, soaked in his own sweat, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.
End of Chapter One
This was actually originally going to be much longer but I decided a cut was necessary. Shorter chapters aren't just easier to read but I hope they'll also help with with the regularity of the updates. Even so though, later chapters will generally be a bit longer. Hopefully.